'Hood Science
'Hood Garden

An Introduction
Mail message
From: rriverstone
Date: Wed, May 23, 2001, 9:05am
my work

I write for Net4tv Voice, internet magazine. One of my most recent stories is, "Surfari©: Raising Turtes & Kids."

I am disabled. I live on a Social Security Disability pension of apx. $500 U.S. per month. My articles are sold to the magazine at $25 U.S. per.

I work as a volunteer in my neighborhood, which is called The War Zone.

It is a slum, infested with petty crime, violence, drug- and alcohol addiction and hopelessness. A large portion of the population is immigrant and does not speak English.

In my neighborhood, I teach: English as a 2nd language, parenting skills, budgeting a d finances--basic life in the U.S.A. skills to adults.

I also, and this is my favorite work, open my home to kids in the 'hood.

We: garden, cook, repair things, learn study skills, etc. I've taught them how to be on the internet; most have email addies and home pages now, even tho their only access to the web is at the library. Thru the daily life stuff I do like my pets, gardening, cooking, etc., I'm teaching them to think for themselves, use tools, understand the basics of the physical sciences (e.g.: the reasons behind the chemical reaction when one mixes baking soda & vinegar, botany, biology, etc.).

The kids were afraid to come to my new apt. bldg. The bldg. is notorious for violence and criminal activity. For example, in the back corner of the property--where I chose to live--people would hide out to shoot up and drink.

I chose this corner because it's as far from the ugly streets as possible. My neighbors have chickens--one had her babies in my yard.

There are trees, flower covered vines, and yards and yards of dirt, covered in river stones.

I scratched out flower beds, added compost, started a garden. I dug up over a dozen hypodermic syringes, broken beer bottles, used condoms, human feces, dirty underwear, dried vomit. Now, pumpkins, gourds, corn, flowers, etc. are growing and sprouting and blooming. Hummingbirds and butterflies hang out, instead of crack whores and street people.

So, the kids see what has happened since i moved in, and they're all starting to return to me.

I got into the kids when one was trying to scale the fence at my old home on the next block, with my VCR under his arm. He said he was gonna sell it for shoes.

I pick trash in the 'hood. when people r evicted, they leave with the clothes on their backs. the landlords throw everything in the dumpster. I find it, clean it, repair it, sell it or give it away.

I gave the kid a pair of Air Jordans and asked if he were hungry. I taught him how to use the microwave, clean up his mess, etc. he told his friends and cousins about me. before that day, they all thought i was a witch.

Within a week, 20 kids were running in and out of my home almost every day. They helped me and i helped them. They needed adult guidance and attention. I never lied to them--which was a first for most of them.

Most of my neighbors still think I'm crazy, a witch, etc. but they respect what i do for their kids, and they don't hurt me. and, now that there's a garden back here in the corner, i've noticed much less trash back here. the most adle brained drunks don't even bother it. They respect it.

I study. I get paid to write about what interests me.

I live on less than $600 U.S. per month, but I'm rich. Now, to those of u not in the states, I am very aware that I'm at leas middle class by other nations' standards--internet? microwave? vcr? America's very weird. As Will Rogers said, America is the only country to drive to the poor house in cars.

The poor in the U.S., I suppose, are living in the air conditioned part of Hell. LOL.

=====

Re: Reality TV "Fear Factor"
Sent message
From: rriverstone
Date: Mon, Jun 11, 2001, 10:53pm
To: WebTV-Pals
Subject: Re: [~Pals~] tv show

rats? mud? and they get money for this?

piece o cake, baby.....beats picking my way thru wino vomit and urine to go to circle K for a pack of smokes.....and i live in a bldg. full of two legged rats--with alcohol, drugs and weapons.

so, where do i sign UP????!!!

=====

Welfare
Sent message
From: rriverstone
Date: Wed, Jun 13, 2001, 9:05am
To: WebTV-Pals
Subject: Re: [~Pals~] Clinton & Bumper Stickers

"I work hard because millions of people on welfare depend on me."

Pops is on welfare. Every day, he makes one of 2 trips in the hot sun by bus: to dialysis, where he shows up on time but must wait hours before being hooked up (which takes four hours) or to the Storehouse, a charity that gives out free food, clothing, household items. He feeds neighbors who don't have any food.

Edie is on welfare. She manages this complex of 32 units, schedules repairs, collects rents, keeps book work, deals with tenants' anger when they must be evicted.

Maria is on welfare. She is raising 2 daughters alone, while the fathers pay nothing for support--one is in the Army. She scrubs floors and cleans toilets and flips mattresses nine hours per day.

Gabriel is on welfare. He takes an hr. bus ride to his dish washing job at Applebee's (there are no such jobs closer). At 2:00am, when he gets off work, he walks home when he can't get a ride: 20 miles.

Paul is on welfare. He's slowly dying of a heart condition, but is on MediCare and has no hope of surgery or transplant. Everyday, he walks dogs for a living.

Señora Castillanos is on welfare. Every morning, she heads out with a shopping cart and a stick, picking up aluminum to sell for recycling.

I'm on welfare. Everyday, I work on my garden, tutor kids, help out those neighbors who are friendly, write online.

For those who think being on "welfare" means you don't work hard, I dare them to come to my neighborhood and work like we do.

=====

I Used To Baby Sit This Woman, Years Ago

Thanks. I have a bunch of these online journals, on different topics. Short term memory is getting too bad to find stuff, otherwise.

Speaking of which, I forgot to tell yer mom that I was recently diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. It's what's been the matter for about thirteen years now. Drs. all said it was psychosomatic.

It explains the weakness, fatigue, failing eye sight, memory probs., numbness, tingling......who know what else.

I'm declining any treatment at the present time and am treating it with massive fluids to wash out toxins and keep blood hydrated to thin out the T-cells that cause the nerve damage.

I'm taking b complex vitamins. I'm TRYING to eat healthy...part of reason for garden.

Standard treatment is a medication that calms down the Tcells that order the attack Tcells that destroy mylen on nerves. I don't know how radically it would affect my immune system or what other side effects it might have. So I'm trying to research this online.

I've lived with this, untreated, for a very long time. Dr. was impressed at how a-symptomatic I am, given the time. I haven't owned a car that whole time, practically, and have lived on a very limited income. I explained that I: walk, ride a bike, lift heavy objects, do big projects like making soap and gardening, etc. Explained that I don't give in to pain and fatique.

I secretly suspect that this has been the "key to my success," so far, and plan to continue a physically-active lifestyle, even if I do make money on the book. I think this is and has been keeping me alive and well, so far. Plus, I'm just too stubborn to let things get the best of me.

ANYway, this isn't a death sentence, nor even a life sentence.

It's not a choice I would have made for myself, but I see others around me in this 'hood dealing with things that are MUCH worse! And I have the advantage of a sharp mind to research what's best for me.

I'm still stringin beads and makin paper and doin all kinds of silly stuff.

=====

John Wayne
Sent message
From: rriverstone
Date: Thu, Jun 7, 2001, 10:05pm
To: deleted
Subject: everything

I don't know where da bomb came from..it's street slang...i'll have to look it up...u made me curious.

i live on ground floor; "security guard" aka: neonazi red neck kkk wanna b jerry springer show reject lives 2 doors down from me. damn.

he's a real pig. literally. ugly, rude, vicious, out of control, lies pathologically...really a sick son of a....

yeah, he shined his flash light in my doors and windows. what a dick.

I told him he was a neonazi and that he looked like a xmas tree in a leather gay bar.

I've been to leather gay bars; i know.

oh, and he's a bully and a whimp and he's so mean to me cuz he knows i'm smarter than he is and can dry up his gonads with one sentence.

=====

Colors
From: rriverstone
Date: Sat, May 26, 2001, 8:46am
To: WebTV-Pals
Subject: Re: [New Pals] what people think

I walked to the bus stop wearing a hand-embroidered, Mexican peasant blouse and a bright, red skirt with rick rack and tatted lace on it.

Women in my 'hood dress 4 ways: hoochie mamma, gangsta baggies, East Texas trailor trash "cowgirl," old lady sunday school clothes.

The Mexican women throw away their traditional clothing as soon as they discover the Dollar Store; it's considered "tacky" to wear such clothing.

So here I come, with my mixed breed, black, white, Cherokee self (everybody assumes I'm white), sashaying down the street, dressed for a fiesta (even had a hair bob with a silk sunflower on it). The entire street just froze in shock. I mean, EVERYBODY stopped what they were doing and blatantly STARED at me. I just laughed.

There is so little color in this 'hood. I have a garden full of bright flowers, a fountain, pinwheels, wind chimes, flags and wind socks. I have fake Navajo rugs on my porch and ceramic things hanging from my wall.

Where I am, things are never drab.

It's amazing how a little color shocks everybody.

Shouldn't life be colorful? =====

Pooped, But Ready,
Sent message
From: rriverstone
Date: Thu, Jun 7, 2001, 12:31pm
To:
Subject: pooped, but ready

If the utils. get cut, i'm gonna call around and raise a stink. even the papers and tv news. mean time, here's what I've been doing.

well, I spent the entire morining getting ready, in case the electric and water get cut off.

I washed out and filled with water: 2, 30-gal. trash barrels; 5 waste paper things; 7, 5-gal. buckets; about 10, 1 or 2 gal. jugs, fifteen 2 litre soda bottles; and 20, 20-oz. bottles with water.

I'm currentlly freezing as many small bottles as I can and making ice cubes, to keep my food in ice chests, if necessary.

i should have enough water to: bathe, drink, give to animals, water garden, wash dishes and wet down blankets and towels if air conditioning doesn't work.

I still have to do all my "water chores" such as dish washing, laundry, mopping.

But, if the h2o gets cut off today, i'm set for "survival" purposes, anyway.

=====

I HATE SLUM LORDS!
Sent message
From: rriverstone
Date: Thu, Jun 7, 2001, 1:35pm
To: WebTV-Pals
Subject: Re: [~Pals~] pooped, but ready

I'm having a hard time adjusting to the heat...as usual. MS shows up at the weirdest times, like: picking up litter in my garden and losing balance.

So, when ppl ask y i don't move, i say, "get me a vehicle, a driver, moving personel, $ for more deposits, gas, utils and misc. and i'll move. Mean time, I'm hunkered here, writing my ass of to get OUT of this poop box."

that usually shuts em up.

so, i'm ready. the rest of the tenants don't seem to give a dang. course, if the water shuts off, every one of em'll b over here, begging for or stealing my water.

this place is Planet of the Apes meets Silence of the Lambs, with a little Beevis and Butthead thrown in for flavor.

I'm just hidin in the house, doin my water chores, writin and playin in the email.

my philosophy: enjoy the electric and water, while i've got it.

i'm buck nekkid, hosed down, under the AC vent, with a cola full of ice and a package of Oreos. life is sweet. for now.

=====

Bugged, More Than Mugged
Mail message
From: rriverstone
Date: Thu, May 24, 2001, 10:48pm
To: WebTV-Pals
Subject: [New Pals] bugged, more than mugged

OK: I take a trash can on wheels to the grocery. I can pull it easier than carrying bags.

I get off the bus, in front of Pussy Cat video (not those kinds of cats, gals). They put a concrete wall around their parking lot, for no reason i can see. As they were building it, i thot: great, a place for drunks and junkies to hide from the cops. the driveway for Pussy Cat faces the Circle K, across the street, where the locals buy their alcohol.

Now, Pussy Cat has provided a great place for picnics and going to toilet. wonderful.

He was behind the wall. I didn't see him. I'll never walk past that wall again.

He jumped in front of me and punched me in the face. I covered my face. He punched me in the gut. I doubled over.

I'm hanging on to the trash can wih one hand for dear life, cuz my money and ID are in it.

He punches me in the ribs and kidneys.

My house keys are in the other hand. I always poke the keys between my fingers, in a fist, like brass knuckles.

I'm doubled over. I look right at his crotch. I punch as hard as i can, over and over, with the fist full of keys.

He grabs crotch.

I run like hell, with the trash can, past the pussy cat driveway and into a junk store. I ask the guy can I stay til the junky leaves. Guy asks if I want him to walk me home. I don't want the guy to know which apt. i live in; he already knows which bldg., tho; it's half a block further, same side of street.

I thank guy, and say, no, cuz he'd have to lock up store. Ask guy to just stand on sidewalk in front of his own door and watch me go.

Like I said, I came in, poured a cola, lit a cig, changed clothes, lay around awhile and then started shaving dogs.

HOURS later, I look in the mirror and see a black eye starting and see dried blood under my nose.

Now, I see bruises on my back.

My belly is tender when i sit or stand.

Nothing's cracked or broken. blood's from punch to face. his little scrotum is probably a serious mess tonight. and, no doubt, it's all over the streets about how that crazy lady with the dogs and the trash can messed up the junky.

No: I did NOT call the police.

Someone in the bldg. here told me who he is and I know where he lives now, and who he scores from. I talked to his "supplier" tonight and the "supplier" promises me he'll get rid of my attacker, cuz he doesn't want any trouble. I threatened to turn the "supplier" in, if something isn't done.

Some people in the building are going to go with me to the guy's house tomorrow to "clean it" for him. Turns out, we have the same land lord, different bldg.

By seven pm tomorrow, that guy is persona non grata in this 'hood, and his supply is cut off. He'll leave.

=====

Words and More
Sent message
From: Rogi
Date: Wed, Jun 13, 2001, 6:32pm
To: deleted
Subject: Re: Words and more

I've been thinking a lot, lately, about the history of literacy in the "West." Especially, how recent, in human culture, literacy is among "common" people.

I stayed up way too late last nite, watching "History of Western Civilization" on PBS. He was covering the "Dark Ages."

Literacy? What's that? Even nobles were illiterate.

I'm living in a culture with heavy Spanish influences. The inquisition. Torturing Jews and Moors. Conquistadores. Imperialism and competition for territory with England and France.

Those other countries were, of course, no better.

This isn't a race thing....but I can see the Spanish influences more easily than I can the English ones, in which I grew up.

The people here do not read. It's not a priority. When they read a document aloud, they sound like primary school children. It's absolutely shocking to hear.

Language is how our minds think. I try to fathom a mind without words, like the "wild children," sometimes encountered. Like that little girl in Los Angeles, discovered shackled in a closet, on a potty chair, seven years old, who never learned how to speak.

I try to fathom the minds around me: void of the internal dialogues I have that begin, "this reminds me of something I read....." and spin into long thoughts about philosophy, art, politics, religion...... A mere something I passed on the street will send me off, thinking.

It's rather like sculpting ideas in my brain.

How does one exist in the world without such internal discussions? My god, the dreariness!

This is, I believe, why drugs and alcohol dependencies are so prevelant among the poor, races not withstanding. The human brain requires something to occupy itself. Nature abhors a vacuum. It also explains the violence and cruelty: adrenilin rush, drama, a break from the dreariness.

So, I see that my ability to think is very singular, given human history. And, I fear, if things continue as I see them decaying around me, we are reverting to an illiterate culture.

The internet will not help this; most of the people around whom I've lived in poverty have no practicle use, so they think, for being online.

The mobs who burned the Library of Alexandria are multiplying. They are superstitious, prejudiced, void of content, angry, aggressive and out of what minds they have on chemicals. They're growing exponentially.