by Nancy Graham

My family and I are four summers out of Brooklyn

by Louise Crawford

Today my husband and I did something unspeakable. Strange. Outright disgusting.

We shopped at Wal-Mart.

That’s what happens when you spend a few weeks in the Central Valley of California. You lose all perspective. Things are just, well, different out here.

For the month of August, we’re staying on a farm on the outskirts of Tracy, a small city 80 miles east of the San Francisco. When I first visited here 18 years ago, it was a large town with a struggling downtown, a Heinz plant, a few strip malls and lots and lots of farms – some of the best farmland in the world.

But things have really changed. There are still many beautiful farms including the one my husband grew up on. But much of the town has been covered with subdivisions – gated communities with identical homes.  A few years back a big mall came to town with a Target, a Sears, a food court, Old Navy, JC Penny, Barnes and Noble and a multiplex.

Fortunately, our side of town isn’t full of subdivisions – and it’s still considered ‘out in the country.’ There are some warehouses here and there but it’s a rural area with ranchettes and family farms with gorgeous view of the foothills of the Sierras.

Big sky, majestic clouds, rows and rows of fruit trees: we’re about as far as you can get from Third Street in Brooklyn. And that’s part of the reason I love to be out here – on the farm that is. I can do without the malls and the subdivisions.

So today, my husband and I went for a drive. And I was driving – because that’s what I do when I’m here. I drive just like everybody else. And we just drove and drove and drove and took care of a few errands. Red fabric was one of the things on our shopping list and we weren’t having any luck finding a fabric store.

Someone at  Target said that they sell fabric at Wal-Mart. So that’s how it happened: we decided to give Wal-Mart a try. It was quite innocent, really.

The parking lot was packed: It’s where all the people in this town shop. The store itself is a mostly charmless warehouse full of everything you could ever or never need.

Car parts, furniture, frozen food, socks, appliances, bathing suits, lunchboxes, tires, pencils, Barbie Dolls and on and on. We did find some fabric for my daughter’s sewing project and some elastic. And we couldn’t resist…

I must say, for all the talk of underpaid employees, the sales people were friendlier and more helpful than any I’ve come across in a while. As we were leaving, a man stood at the door thanking us for being there.

Still, we got out of there good and fast – before we spent too much money on things we don’t really need. I felt none of the excitement I feel when I’m in Target, that high-design emporium of basically the same stuff – it’s just so much nicer there.

Well, it’s done. When we got back, my mother-in-law said we’d done something shameful. We put our heads down and felt, well, fine. Just fine. It was an adventure, like driving, that everyone needs to do every now and again. Nothing to feel too bad about unless you’re planning to make a habit of it….

by L. Tucker

When I get off the 2/3 at Grand Army Plaza and walk into the world of Victorian mansions, of stone bordered by beautiful gardens, Prospect Park, and rows of brownstones, sometimes I ask myself why I don

by Lisa Malcolm

When we moved to the Slope from the East Village almost 3 years ago, one of the biggest losses  (besides a good video store) was the playground and community of parents that I had found at Tompkins Square Park.

I felt lucky, though, to have a new playground right on the corner at Fifth Avenue and I

In case you were wondering, while I’m away on vacation I’ve enlisted many friends and readers to fill in for me on POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE. If you would like to write a postcard please let me know – there are still openings (You can e-mail me at louise_crawford@yahoo.com).

In yesterday’s postcard,  Henry Crawford, told the history of his band, Cool and Unusual Punishment. On Thursday,  Nancy Graham wrote an interesting piece on the themes of fatherhood and transformation in Tim Burton’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

On Monday August 15, Little Light takes over for the day.

This is fun for me because I don’t know in advance what these writers are going to do. These surprises are an added treat to my vacation on the farm.

During my vacation there will be no new POSTCARDS OR SCOOP DU JOUR on the weekends There will, however, be daily pixes from Hugh Crawford and the occasional note from me.

Yours from the San Joaquin Valley,
OTBKB.

by Henry Crawford

When I was first offered this guest spot on the oh-so-popular OTBKB, I strained to figure out what to do. First I thought about doing something about the history of this blog from my eyes. Then I thought of doing one about my band.

I think I’m going to settle on the last one.

I remember the exact day we started the band. It was in the night, about 10:00, in February. It was snowing and I thought there probably wasn’t going to be school the next day. Ian, Jack and I were at Jack’s house. Jack was fiddling with his  guitar while Ian and I were jumping around singing along to a Queen song playing on the computer (probably "Bohemian Rhapsody").

Then Jack said, "Hey, guess what? I figured out to play: "Another One Bites the Dust" on the guitar." Ian had learned how to play it on the drums a few week earlier. Since the bass part is the same as the guitar, one of us suggested: "Why don’t we go over to Ian’s house and play it together?"

We all liked the idea so we trudged our big ‘ol amps and instruments to Ian’s house through 8 inches of snow screaming "Another One Bites the Dust" at the top of our lungs.

I have a distinct memory of not being cold at all walking through the snow. When we got to Ian’s we set up our stuff and got ready to  play. We played it 3 times and then made up two other songs (which we never really  used after that). One was called "El Diablo," a song based on a mariachi riff. The other song was a heavy thrash metal song called Dinosaur, which was Jack playing loud and screaming: "DINOSAUR RAHHHH!!!" over and over  again.

At this point we had no idea of starting a real band, mainly because we had no singer. But we continued to play together every Friday night. Then on another snowy day, we asked a girl from Jack’s school to sing in our band and she agreed and we were rolling.

For weeks, we tried to decide on a name for the band. The choices were: Vanilla Knights, Dynamic Spoons, and Arcade Opera. Then one day, Ian and I were playing a game and he said: "Henry, that’s cruel and unusual" and I said: More like COOL and unusual ohhh." Then we said, "Hey that’s a good name. Let’s do it."

We continued to practice until one day Ian called me up:
"Hey Henry, guess what?"
"What?"
"We got a gig."
"Awesome," I said.
"Guess where?"
"Where?"
CBGB’s"

We got the gig because Ian’s school was having a rock showcase there and Ian snuck us in. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. No only had we got a gig but at CBGB’s.

Now we were practicing more and more for our June 18th gig but then on April 25th I got another call from Ian.
"It’s canceled," he said.
"Fuck!" I said.

We were canceled due to bad planning on the school’s part. So after telling everyone about it we got canceled. Oh well, no gig. We are still very bitter about this. Then that Friday I’m walking with Jack and he says:
"Hey, we’ve got a gig?"
"When?"
"Tomorrow"

We got this gig from a friend of Jack’s who had dropped out at the last minute of the Teen Showcase at the Liberty Heights Tap Room in Red Hook and gave us her slot. We practiced all day and until 12:00 that night. Then we all went home and IM-ed everyone we knew about it.

The next day, we went to Red Hook in separate cars. It had a sort of movie sense, like when the elite team members drive up in separate cars, nodding to one another silently. I was wearing a white t-shirt that said: "Jesus is coming, everyone look busy." Jack was wearing a blue and white pinstriped dress shirt with a pink tie. Kenda was wearing her Rocky Horror t-shirt and Ian wore a simple white button-down shirt.

We played three songs plus one encore and it was over. We hung out with friends for a while then we all went our separate ways.

Afterwards, we continued to play and did two other gigs. But this is pretty much where the interesting bit of the story ends. I’d just like to note that in this short time we’ve been a band, we’ve broken 3 drums (1 during the first practice). We’ve also broken several guitar strings, performed 3 gigs, and have prepared 10 songs.

Henry Crawford has been playing the bass guitar for two years. His band, Cool and Unusual Punishment, plays at the Liberty Heights Tap Room. They just released their first demo and it’s available for $5.99 here. To hear 3 songs from the demo go here.  Henry is also interested in cartooning, movies, Mel Brooks, philosophy, and the history of the Mongol Empire.

by Nancy Graham

Tim Burton doesn

This e-mail arrived from my sister in Perm, Russia before we went to the airport this morning at 5 a.m. As one journey ends, another one begins. 

We went to the court today and sat before the judge, the nice
judge who gave us the right to be the parents of Sonya Rose: YAY.

I was standing in line at La Bagel when my cell phone rang: it was my sister calling from Perm, Russia. I ran out onto Seventh Avenue to hear the news from the orphanage. (Somehow talking to her while people around me were ordering bagels seemed tacky.)

"I saw Sonya today," my sister said excitedly. "She’s smiling a lot, laughing, playing, exploring – and
standing up and walking around with the help of mommy ( me). They said
she recognized me. I’m not sure, but she came into my arms without
tears and started smiling a lot. She enjoyed the toys I brought, licked
and kissed my face. She’s very cute and smiles a lot and
doesn’t suck her thumb as much as before."

We spoke for nearly an hour as I stood on the stoop of a building on Seventh Avenue just off Union Street. I saw a good friend pass and called out her name. "Hey, come talk to my sister, she’s in Russia." Our friend, who was startled to see me, was delighted to get the scoop directly from the new mother herself.

Later when I got home there was a group e-mail from my sister to friends and family with more information about her momentous day at the orphanage.

"I was able to feed Sonya with the caregivers and the other
children. She ate mashed potatos, squash and some sort of ground meat. It
actually smelled pretty good. I was tempted to try it. Afterward we
played and I took her for a stroll in an old beat-up stroller.  Then, I
brought her back and she was ready to take her afternoon nap. I noticed all the other babies were sitting on potties. It was
quite a funny sight. The diaper is apparently for the benefit of
adoptive mommies – I guess she sits on a potty too when I’m not around.
I was so exhausted after my 2 hours with her that I started to wonder
if  I would be able to hack being a mom. I also must admit that I got
little sleep and have lost over 10 hours in the last 48 hours. So I
guess I should give myself a break.

They have begun preparing us for the court hearing. They seem
worried about it – I think they are afraid of authority. Apparently we
have the nice rather than the mean judge ( both women). We are being
prepped so that we say and do the right thing. They claim the agency
didn’t send certain papers when I know they did ( because I see other
papers sent in that particular dossier ) and I have the copies to prove it.  So I
proved them wrong. Yay!

Everyone is talking about the little boy who was murdered by an American adoptive mother. We met the head of the orphanage today ( he
was sick during our last visit. He was kind of creepy looking with an ugly
gold tooth right in the front of his mouth. He barely acknowledged me,
and started talking about the case of the murdered child, and how that
has compromised the entire adoption system. Basically, everyone is
trying to cover their asses – No one here wants to show any
impropriety. They are discontinuing independent adoptions, which sounds
like a good plan since they are not as regimented.  It’s kind of
disconcerting to be reminded of this horror everywhere we go.

The drive to and from  the orphanage was particularly grueling
today – lots of vacationers driving badly. Artur is a great driver – It
takes an incredible amount of concentration to navigate, and pass cars
properly and at over 100mph. It can be quite frightening, but I trust
him implicitly."

I went through the rest of the day with thoughts of my new neice dancing in my head. And worries about my sister driving on those helacious roads. This has been a long journey for all of us. I can’t wait for Ducky and her parents to come home to Brooklyn.

The hours after returning from a vacation are often a bit rocky. It’s that transitional time for reading the week’s mail, readjusting to one’s smaller-seeming apartment, refilling the refrigerator…

Well, just minutes after returning from our Sag Harbor idyll,  I discovered, when getting ice water from the fridge to cool me in our stifling, un-air conditioned apartment, that our refrigerator was busted.

And the smell:  I couldn’t identify it at first. But it seems that the smell of moldy cucumber is nearly excruciating.  We tried desperately to shield ourselves it   (hand to nostril, t-shirt over head). But once the refrigerator door was open there was no containing it.

What a way to come back from a vacation! We’d had some indication that the refrigerator was on the outs a few weeks back.  But it seemed fine before we embarked on our vacation one week ago.

Keeping the refrigerator door closed seemed to be the best plan while we carried our bags up three flights of stairs and brought some semblance of order to the disorder of suitcases, canvas bags, computers, instruments, and food that we were returning with.

Showering was the next order of business as we were sweaty and tired after our two hour drive from the Hamptons. Leaving the house was also essential for prolonging that vacation spell.

Too soon it was to come back to all this.

We went to a party down the street, which we didn’t want to miss – a great way to put the odor and the worry about the refrigerator out of our minds for three hours or so.

Once home, we bravely emptied the contents of the refrigerator into the garbage. That’s when we discovered the mold covered vegetable compartment and the wretchedly spoiled cucumbers, lettuce and other unidentifiable.

Unspeakable. I heard my son say to his friend, "Sorry about the smell."

My husband handed me the plastic refrigerator drawers and a pitcher of apple juice that had turned to hard, foul smelling cider. I immediately went to work pouring dish soap into and onto everything and cleaning the guck off. On my knees, I scrubbed the refrigerator trying to rid it of any evidence of the food’s demise.

Today we think about a new refrigerator, an exciting prospect. Stainless steel, perhaps. Freezer compartment in a big drawer on the bottom? Ample room for all our food coop bounty. My kids want an ice maker and drinking water on the door.

At this point, I’d just be happy to have somewhere to put milk, orange juice, and all the other essentials…

Anyone know the fastest way back to Sag Harbor?

And you thought those teenagers on Seventh Avenue were just goofing off on the street near the Mojo Caf

Here’s a story reprinted from B61Productions, a Red Hook Blog. It was written by Steve, whose last name I don’t know. "This is a story about the Red Hook Rise league," Steve wrote in an e-mail this morning. "Obviously they are  polarizing  group, but it’s hard to find fault with this program. Hope you’ll check it out. BTW, I really appreciated your story on Added Value. If only those two groups didn’t hate one another…"

Now  I’m dying to know why these groups hate one another.

COFFEY PARK–The referee’s whistle blew sharply inside the cage at
Coffey Park. "Thank you!" yelled a 10-year-old boy who felt the foul
call was long overdue on this 90-degree Saturday. It was a moment on a
hot blacktop basketball court that could easily have turned into a
bigger outburst from the player or the ref. But it didn’t.

"That’s enough!" was all the referee said. The conversation ended. The competition resumed. As time expired, one team celebrated, the other was disappointed.

To an outside observer strolling through Coffey Park on a Saturday, Books and Basketball looks like any other athletic league for 7- to 13-year-olds. And it is, except for one difference–players have to spend 20 minutes reading before or after their game, or they can’t play.

The reading requirement was a simple response to a complex problem that the organizers at Red Hook Rise tackled five years ago.

"A lot of kids were having trouble filling out the application for the basketball program," explains Director of Operations Lori Bethea. The organizers installed a "literacy first" policy and demanded that a parent or guardian accompany the children on sign-up day. Asking more from the players and parents has paid dividends.

"It’s made a big difference. The kids are more focused," says Bethea. "There’s been a tremendous amount of improvement in their behavior. They’re more respectful and encourage one another to read."

Lori’s 16-year-old son Raymond played in the league before the reading component was added and now volunteers with the organization.

"Before ‘Books’ everybody was just playing to tighten up their game and become ‘nice’– that’s what they call it," Raymond says. "There was more bickering and fighting about who’s best. But now it’s a lot more settled down, and there’s a lot more kids."

Since 2000, participation has increased from 60 to 172 kids this summer. Parental involvement has also increased. This year 17 parents volunteer every week compared to six when the new policy went into effect. Another eight community members lend their time coaching, cooking, refereeing and organizing games and reading sessions.

One of those community members is Murray Hanson, the man with the whistle. Hanson, a legend among local youth organizers, is in the best position to see the changes. But for the Red Hook native, the story goes back further than 2000.

"There were some tough times," he says of the 30 years he’s coached and ref’d in the community. "Red Hook was on the cover of Life Magazine [Crack: downfall of a neighborhood," July 1988]. Other coaches with teams didn’t want to come down here. But we got through that."

Hanson credits Red Hook Rise founders Earl and Ray Hall for helping the community weather New York City’s crack cocaine binge of the late 1980s and early 90s. "It’s still not all peaches and cream. But they have solidified a brand new perception of Red Hook. They’ve helped a lot of people rethink what’s possible in their lives. They’ve worked hard."

The hard work has gained the notice of politicians and businesses who have whole-heartedly embraced the new perception of Red Hook. When IKEA decided to pursue a store in Red Hook, they sought the Hall’s help. When Fairway opens their doors on Van Brunt Street at the end of the year, Red Hook Rise will have office space upstairs donated by developer Greg O’Connell. A recent Saturday, Julius Spiegel, Borough Commissioner of Parks addressed the kids. And Borough President Marty Markowitz will appear on the last day of the season, Aug. 13.

All the attention this election cycle is new to a grassroots organization that was born out of Red Hook’s hardship. "It’s about time," Earl says. "They all say that education is a priority. And now here’s a program that they can be a part of that challenges them to back that up."

The Halls’ commitment to the neighborhood began long before Red Hook appeared on the political and real estate landscapes.

"We lost friends to the street. We lost relatives. We were fortunate to walk away without getting incarcerated or shot or stabbed. It was a wake up call for us to give back. To get the community to come together and unify and say, ‘We don’t have to continue to let the cycle affect us,’" Earl says.

To give kids something positive to do, the Halls began recruiting players for touch football games in 1994. They concentrated their efforts on at-risk teenagers, whom they found easy to identify.

"You can always find kids just hanging out in the street. Not doing anything." Earl says. "It’s not hard to find the at-risk kids."

The growth of Red Hook Rise has coincided with several positive trends in the neighborhood. Crack cocaine’s popularity has fallen along with the area’s crime rate. Overall crime in the 76th Precinct has declined 56 percent since 1993, including an 87.5 percent drop in murder. Statistics like these tell a feel-good story that has made Red Hook a prime candidate for political photo opportunities. But the community still has real problems.

According to a report released by New School University, the median annual household income in Red Hook Houses was $10,372 in 1999. Consider that number with the fact that 25 percent of residents were between the ages of 5 and 14, and it adds up to a vulnerable population.

While the original football games concentrated on teens already on the street, Books and Basketball aims for this younger demographic. The goal is to reach kids before the street does. Judging by the rapid growth of the program, it’s clear that Red Hook Rise has found an eager audience for its message.

"This is where it began," Earl says looking out over the lot between the basketball court and Richards St. "There was nothing here but solid cement, broken glass and debris. It was just a vacant park."

To anyone who has worked with youth in South Brooklyn for the last decade or more, it looks like a much different place. But as the neighborhood undergoes dramatic change, Hanson stresses, "Don’t ever forget where you come from. Red Hook has an incredible history."

For 172 kids, that history includes learning to read in Coffey Park this summer.