It happened again today as I was walking home with the kids from swim lessons at the local city pool. I said "hi" to a girl dawdling on the sidewalk as we strolled/bounced/ran past her, and was carefully utterly snubbed.
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I'm not oversensitive: I'm the guy who simply did not notice when my freshman roommate short-sheeted my bed to get back at me for my relentless cheerfulness. (the prank's failure irked him even more, I'm afraid) But this happens often enough that even I begin to notice: I am often studiously ignored, in this neighborhood.
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The girl looked to be about 12 or 13, African-American, and she had watched us approach for half a block or so. She wasn't interested in avoiding us, as she had plenty of time to cross the street or go into a house or simply step away from the sidewalk. She was making a deliberate point by ignoring all four of us.
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What point she meant to make, I can only guess. It could be any number of things:
1. You white folks are not welcome here.
2. Sort of a "payback-ignoring" for all the times she has been studiously ignored by whites or other races.
3. White folks can't raise Black kids. (or if they do, they do it to cooperate in the destruction of Black American culture, trying to make oreos of us all-- e.g. I won't fraternize with you, the enemy)
4. Rich people need to be taken down a notch.
5. USC people need to be taken down a notch. (a subtle but important distinction)
6. I don't talk to strangers.
7. I am in junior high and feeling moody, leave me alone.

If #2 or #7 are her reasons (and in my opinion these are most likely in this case), I totally understand.
I really hope it isn't #6 ("Stranger Danger" was a well-intended but sadly misguided program that did much damage to community and racial healing in America) or #3 (kids shouldn't be that sophisticated in their racism at that age).
My wife and I have neither attended nor taught at USC, which we thought of as our cross-town rivals, so being mistaken for USC students or faculty still sort of bothers me.

That leaves plain old racism and classism.

Those are the two big barriers we face as we try to knit ourselves into this new neighborhood. This young lady might only have been acting her age, but being ignored comes with the territory when you're the new folks on the block in an urban neighborhood.

Come to think of it, it's better than some more assertive alternatives I can imagine.

Joy and I stopped by the jobsite to drop something off, on our way to run some errand. As I got out of the van, one of the fellas in the white apartments across the street called out "Hey man, you done buildin' your mansion yet?"

A loaded question, but loaded with what? Folks tease me sometimes about the house... "Coming along bit by bit," I called back. When in doubt be polite and vague.

He shouted back, neither polite nor vague. Fortunately, Joy kept up her own happy burble the whole time, and remained oblivious to Daddy's "conversation" with the man across the street.

The Digest:
"You're racist, you never hire black folks to work on your house."
-- what about the subcontractor who was here two days ago? (who was darker skinned than this fellow yelling at me... which makes no difference to most white people, but it does to blacks, for some reason)
"You don't hire black folks from THIS neighborhood!" / "not from THESE apartments!"
-- silence: that's true, but general contractors don't just show up at a jobsite, look around, and call to whoever happens to be standing around and hire them. There are licenses, certified training, contacts, bids... in fact, Bob has been relentlessly trimming down his workforce because of skyrocketing workman's comp rates & other reasons of expense. He rehires them as subcontractors job by job, so he saves money and they make more money. In this way Bob tries to be loyal to those who have served him well for years but whom he's forced into freelancing (or salaried jobs with other companies). Can Bob be expected to risk hiring local strangers when old friends need that work too? Would this guy treat his homies the same way he expects Bob to treat Bob's trusted associates?

But that isn't what this guy needs to hear. His subtext is clear: "I NEED A JOB. IT PISSES ME OFF, WATCHING YOUR GUYS WORK WHILE I NEED A JOB."

Errand done, man in full rant (with a buddy next to him alternately laughing at him and telling him to shut up), I bundle Joy into the van and drive slowly away. Sure, he's wrong about me and about the moral imperative of hiring him. But I still wish I could help him. Becoming part of the neighborhood means making my neighbors' concerns my concerns too.

And, this morning there's a "For Sale" sign in our front yard. Did I mention the clause in our lease that says the landlord can evict us at any time as a condition of sale of the property? Being evicted from the neighborhood won't help me become part of it.

Hmmm.

Sorry for the continued hiatus: we have been travelling the west coast from San Francisco to Bremerton to Edmonds, Federal Way, Onalaska and Longview, various Oregonian distractions, and a quick stop in Tahoe before finally returning to our little apartment in Los Angeles.

Construction update: things are coming along all right. Plumbing and electrical plod along apace. We will finish our very complicated window order soon, and all 35 windows for both structures will arrive four to six weeks after that... which means we must have our unusual window flashing and sealing all done by then, so we can pop them all into place. Sounds easy...

Relationships update: Nathaniel has broken the ice for us with the neighborhood kids, and we now have LOTS of new friends on this block. I am getting to know the other adults in our apartment building, the one next to us, and the one across the street.

a question: Why are all post-Spanish-Mission residential structures in California built without any sensible insulation from solar heat gain, and mostly without any concern for passive ventilation-- i.e. "so we can catch a breeze in here and not broil to death"?

... I'm back online at last. Since our move to this apartment I have not been online even to check my email: the computer was in neat separate bundles, we have no phone service, and my router/modem is still at 29th Street kicking out a nice strong signal to my former neighbors.

Now that I've reassembled my Mac, I discover to my delight that one of my new neighbors is being similarly generous with his/her wireless signal. Whoever you are, thank you!

Now to catch up on two weeks worth of email and maybe some blogs too... and yes, there is news about the house. Good news and bad.

Hang on, I'll get to it.

We have found our temporary residence while we finish the house. 
This time I have a signed lease!  Ironically though, as I read
through it (yes, before signing), there is a clause that lets the owner
boot us all out anytime the property enters escrow.  So there
isn't much difference between having the paper contract and having the
verbal one, after all (at least in this sense).

"Us all" refers to the three other families living there.  It's a
plain 4-unit apartment building, and we have yet to meet our future
neighbors. 

But the landlord is very cool, the unit has just been remodeled (nicely
too), and it is exactly one block away from our jobsite.  One
block closer to USC, which will be that much better for me in August.

We have to move out of the 29th Street house at the end of this
month.  Just today, my carefully laid plans for our summer/fall
housing (until we can move into the home we are building) have
collapsed.

I had arranged the miraculous: that we would rent the house right next
door to the house we are building.  I thought everything was
settled: rent, move-in date, etc. But the owner, a friend of ours,
called several days ago to say she had received a very generous offer
to buy her house, which she had accepted.

Oh no!  When will it enter escrow? (oh, a few days I guess) 
How long is the escrow? (I don't know...) Will the new owner be willing
to rent to us, at least until September? (I'll ask him and let you know)

Well, today we know.  No.

So we've been looking at other possibilities:

...half a home, in the same neighborhood?

(we would rent the turret half: 3 very small bedrooms, expensive)

...an apartment in Gardena?

(much cheaper, but far away, and half a block from Hustler Casino)

...a borrowed RV?

(nearly free, cramped for a 4-month stay, but with interesting
operating costs- refill water and gas tanks, pump out septic tank,
drive around to avoid parking tickets on streetsweeping day- but we can
park it right in front of our jobsite)

Part of me wishes we could just set up a couple of tents in the
unfinished garage and camp on-site while the house was built around
us.  But going four months in camp cots without shower or flush
toilet etc. does not appeal to my lovely wife. Possibly not legal
either. (Can we "occupy" the property if we promise not to "occupy" the
house itself without a certificate of occupancy?)

Wherever we'll end up, packing has begun: we have filled our hall closet to the ceiling with packed boxes already.

Now if I only knew where we were going...

Okay, finally time for new site music. This last one received so much positive feedback it ran from Valentine's Day to Memorial Day! Bobby Zee and Zoe, the epitome of smooth.

And besides, I've been busy and never got around to changing it.

Which leads me to this new track you hear now:
"Task Requires Heroes". It's from the ill-fated movie "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," which actually I enjoyed because I like the premise so much. And because I saw it with my son Nathaniel, who is still impressed by any high-effects action adventure. Whatever your opinion of the movie, the soundtrack at least is awesome.

We are at a tough point in the construction process. Interior trades are beginning (electrical, plumbing), while the structural trades haven't quite finished yet (block/concrete, rough framing, steel... all held up by missing steel... Emil...). Exterior trades like wrapping, roofing and stucco are fidgeting in the wings.

Two concerns: the various subcontractors may be tripping over one another and held up by one another, costing time (and money). And, funds must flow much faster, which means I need to be ready and able to pay folks quickly and completely. A million details will need attention and coordination. It will take a heroic effort to keep things moving along.

Hence the song: this task requires heroes. Happily, we have several on our team:

1. Jerry Nelson - he who earned all the money that made this possible. Thanks, Dad, for setting a little aside for me every year since I was born. Sorry I'm putting it all into a home in the 'hood instead of a house in Scottsdale or something. Thanks for understanding and supporting me, even when we have not agreed.
2. Robert Sawyer - architect and general contractor, he who designed all this and orchestrates its construction. Thanks for your patience with us as we shot down all your great artistic ideas and insisted on our own prosaic ones. You have gone the extra mile for us through unusual opposition and delays.
3. Cynthia Farr - the first neighbor to befriend us, the first to defend us, even when she thought we were crazy. Not that we're less crazy now, I guess. She's just used to us. I appreciate so much your gracious attitude toward little things like property boundaries and fence problems... lesser persons could have made those into major issues. Thanks for your forgiveness and encouragement.

More "heroes" keep coming to mind, like Kevin Piero and Danny Castro and Hector the FireSuppressor and Joe & KC (a father-&-son plumbing team), and many others. Hope you find yourselves in this blog, because you are certainly part of the saga. Thanks, more than I can say, for all your hard work and attention to detail. Don't be strangers.

Grace and strength to all our heroes!

Armando and I just returned from dinner at Manas, a new restaurant at the end of our block. We have watched that corner building gradually transform from a bankrupt and crumbling medical clinic to a sleekly modern Indian restaurant.
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For weeks we have wanted to visit and see what it is like; at last, tonight, we did.

It is terrific! The garlic naan bread dwarfs the plate which supports it from somewhere beneath: it is generously garlicked, warm, and very very good. We tried not to fill up on it, to save room for other food when it came. We mostly succeeded. Then we ordered a second helping.

Armando's vegetable chow mein was excellent. The complete lack of syrupy sauce delighted me. The ingredients had to stand on their own with no goop to hide them. I expected Armando to turn up his nose at them, as he orders chow mein anywhere it is available, and normally comments on the sauce. The connoisseur's verdict this time: "it had really good vegetables, and I especially liked the noodles". Hmmm!

The masala chai also surprised me: not sweet at all, it proved to be smooth, strong, creamy... and served at volcanic temperature. Like lava, the chai formed a skin on top as it cooled. Once it was merely scalding, I enjoyed it very much.

My baighan bharta was good too, though a bit on the spicy side. I wished I had ordered Armando's mango lassi to cool the fire, but it was so good he was eager to give me a taste but reluctant to grant me more than that. Instead, I munched crunchy roasted papadum and drizzled sweet tamarind sauce over the garlic naan. Aaah, heaven.

We finished with the most dramatic dish yet: a "candy-cone dosa and vanilla ice cream." Dosa is a large thin stiff crepe, usually unsweetened as an entree. This version tasted like fresh-baked-flexible waffle cone, or something better, and was rolled into a giant cone that barely fit on its plate. Savory soup and some other dipping sauce that I could not identify (but enjoyed anyway) are served on the side. But where was the ice cream?

Hidden under the hot cone!

The combination of finger-tingling hot crepe and cold ice cream was amazing. I took the leftover crepe shards home with the remaining papadums and baighan bharta.

Kanoj Kotla, owner along with his brother Kumar, had planned and prepared for two years before opening Manas, their first attempt at the restaurant business. The brothers owned and ran an Indian food market for more than three years, just across Vermont on 29th Street next to Lion's Bicycles. They wanted a larger space, and dreamed of an authentic Indian restaurant where they could serve their favorite food as well as merely sell the ingredients. (Their market has now moved to the storefront right next door to Manas.)

The mystery?

Executive Chef Mohandas Doss is a renowned 5-star chef in India, who has trained other chefs in fine Indian cuisine from all parts of the Subcontinent. Chef Balla Karmegan ably backs him up. Either one of them could command top dollar and a full kitchen staff in the finest Indian restaurants of America.

How did Manas, a small inexperienced startup in South Central Los Angeles, wind up with both of them?

Some mysteries are meant to be enjoyed, not analyzed.

Come enjoy this one.

Armando at dinner, no preamble or context:
(remember that both Kathryn and I are strong extroverts and probably talk too much)

"That's cool that some parents can talk. I ran into one, one time. I had heard of parents that talk but I'd never really met one. Remember that one man who had a big parent on a chain, in the park? It was pure red, but really blue along its wings..."

...oh, THAT sort of "parent"...

Clear diction is tricky when the tooth fairy isn't done with you yet.

For years I have been telling Armando I would take him camping with me. Last night I made good on my promise, six days early.

This coming Sunday/Monday has long been calendared as "Nic and Armando to Joshua Tree!" But J-Tree seems far away and scary to an imaginative 8-year-old, especially one who pores over nature magazines.

He has National Geographic trading cards featuring all sorts of interesting predators and reads books about the desert which, in order to thrill young readers, emphasize the presence and menace of certain desert denizens. Armando and I talked about the relative size and ferocity and hunting habits of coyotes vs. wolves vs. mountain lions vs. dogs. He was much encouraged to realize how small and timid coyotes are. To his credit, he already knew we don't have to worry about wolves in the Mojave desert. "And bears are right out!" he exclaimed with a relieved giggle.

Still, he looked forward to "camping alone with Dad" with a mix of thrill and dread.

So he and I camped at 37th Drive last night!

We left our house right after dinner and went to our house... this a source of much 8-year-old amusement ("...get it? We leave our home to go home to go camping but at home, but in the home we will be living in, not the home we're living in now... get it? And it's 'camping' even though we're inside a house, because it's not totally houselike yet, but a big spooky shell...").

He and I walked all through the darkening shell, looking at each room, to decide where we would "pitch camp." He chose Grandpa David's apartment over the garage.

We laid out our gear and got right into bed, as it was suddenly late.

...ahh, light, the camper's courage!

But, being Armando, he and I stayed up for almost an hour talking about things. We talked about the homeless guy camping in the alley not 30 yards from us (our neighbor says he's a decent fellow, one of the very few homeless folks she trusts to not steal or "mess around" behind her house). We talked about what it will be like when our new house is finished. We talked about why Daddy wants to spend nights here, to make sure that nothing bad happens to the place. We talked about being good stewards, not so that we can keep our stuff to ourselves, but so that we can share it with others, investing wisely in the Kingdom of God.

The Other Camper.

And what better breakfast in the morning than... hot chocolate!

Next time I ought to bring another mug, to share some with The Other Camper.

Here's our campsite at dawn:

Apparently Armando spent half the night sleeping on the plywood, not on the cushioned pad.

We are both looking forward to our next campout together. His old dread is completely replaced with thrill now!