Good Morning

This is the view from my bedroom/living room window and this apartment has so much to do with my level of openness to inspiration. It's true I can write anywhere--I remember Willie Perdomo being like, "How can you do that?" In utter disbelief when we'd be hanging out in some bar or something and I'd whip out my composition notebook and just let loose. When it comes, I can't stop it. I've been known to stop dancing in the middle of some club and open my notebook up to scrawl in the dark--but it is true that in some places the writing muses abound. Such is my apartment.
The ironic thing is, I used to make fun of the neighborhood I now live in. First I lived in Vesterbro, in a cold-water flat, with no shower and on the fifth floor (with no elevator!). That's where Ben & I brought our son when he was first born, and it may have been modest, but it had a lot of soul. It was a drag not having some of the modern amenities that every one else around me seemed to have, but on days when I didn't feel sorry for myself, I tried to focus on women like my grandmother, great-grandmother or even other women the world over who don't even have a tap of running water. I don't care what people say--it can always be worse and many times, for so many others, it is.
For example, I saw Amy last night. Amy Faircloth is a fellow American who doesn't glaze over when the subject of race and politics comes up. She's an anthropologist and we get teary-eyed and rosy cheeked gushing about geeky things like identity politics and the yummy, juicy side of life full of love. So anyway, she started telling me about a man, a colleague of hers, who about 8-9 years ago passed on from a brain tumor. There were many things remarkable about this story.
The first was this man himself and the way she described him. His wittiness, his ability to tear all asunder with his sharp, often revealing quips that were borne out of love and the need to uncover truths.
The second fascinating aspect of this story is that he was only 36 when he passed away. He left two young children behind, along with his wife...
The other fascinating thing is that his wife then proceeds to finish her dissertation, a 1000+ thesis on the history of books and publishing in Denmark. Quite remarkable, I think. What is even more remarkable is that there we are, me and Amy, sitting in a Japanese restaurant and he comes alive. ..the other cool thing is that every year, his wife has a night that is her husband's night. Amy said that at first it was a bit awkward, but as the years progressed, so did these evenings, and every year, those who can, show up. How wonderful and impressive that these people keep this soul alive...
So anyway, like I said, life could be worse than living in a cold water flat in Vesterbro (that was my point!). I liked Vesterbro because it was where most of the people I knew lived but I'm kidding when I write that Ben and I lived on what could qualify as one of the worst streets in that neighborhood! Right across the street was an after-hours bar called Cafe Lasse, which would open like five in the morning and since our windows faced the front, forget it! But we didn't complain cause we figured, that was what cities were for--for young people to party and young families like us, well, if we didn't like it then we could always move out to the suburbs.
Then there was R, who lived across the street. I could never tell if he was black or just that reddish brown from the tanning salon. Tanorexic is I guess, what they call it. And he was bad. Rumor had it that he beat up not one, but TWO Hell's Angel's bikers who tried to make trouble on the street once. Rumor also had it that he dealt
speed (he certainly seemed as though he was on it) and basically, no one wanted to mess with him. We called him the Mayor of Vesterbro and when he biked through Vesterbro, always shirtless in the summer, with beer balanced in one had and his two dogs running at his side you kind of knew why. But he liked our little family and would always yell out in his best Jamaican accent, "What going on Sister?" To which I would always smile and give him a nod.
Then there was my crazy Turkish actress neighbor F--I loved her. She was not only stunningly beautiful but so nutz in that refreshing, non-Danish way. She lived with her Danish boyfriend (her Turkish family was never aware and certainly would not have approved). I would stop by her house for quick chats or lunches while we were both unemployed or she would come up for visits and paint Kai's face like butterflies and admonish me for my bad parenting skills to which I would dryly reply, "Just wait til you have your children, I won't even say, 'I told you so." She now has her first child and has been very quiet :-)
But then, as part of this whole Urban Renewal thing, we had to move so that they could upgrade the building and so we did. It was about the time Ben and I split, so I found an apartment in Nørrebro (Ben's friend's place) on Skt. Hans Gade and lived there for two years. Nørrebro is like the East Village of Copenhagen and if I was childless and in my 20s, I would have fallen in love with it. I fell in love with it anyway, but by the end of my sojourn there I had grown weary of the anxiety attacks I experienced having to navigate the thick crowd of people on Nørrebrograde just to get to the supermarket. I found myself having to be very organized when it came to grocery shopping-- this trek would become doubly stressful with Kai in tow. I know some of us don't have a choice, but taking kids in supermarkets during rush hour time must go under the heading of cruel and unusual punishment.
So when I got the opportunity to move to Østerbro, I actually welcomed it. Ben and his friends jokingly refer to Østerbro as Switzerland--cause it's so white. Where Nørrebro is like an old, arthritic boro, its streets gnarled and cramped unto each other, Østerbro is like the sprite, younger sibling who casually sprawls its athletic and healthy body out. There is room in Østerbro. There is Green in Østerbro--and in this point of my life, there are only two colors that really matter to me: the green of the trees and the blue of the sky. I get that here in Østerbro. I get quiet. I get large, spacious sidewalks. I get almost zero traffic. I get my view and again, these muses, they live here and from the looks of it, they enjoy my company as much as I do theirs.

Had a reading last night and sold a couple of books. Always a good thing. Earned a little, much needed, extra money. Hung out with Monica and Ulla in a bodega--that's an old-fashioned bar here and one of the last frontiers for smokers. We sat under a Danish flag and talked about the beauty and universality of books. We talked about books as objects, things and how they come alive when you read them. We talked about readers as well and then I remembered something interesting.
The night before last I had to go to a Parent Orientation meeting at Kai's school. It started at 7pm and going to these things has always been a struggle for me cause I always feel like I'm on the outside, cause, let's face it, I am! Sometimes I'm up to the challenge and can smile and not take it personally that no one has never, in the three years that Kai has gone to that school, picked up the phone and invited me to come over with Kia. Things like that are useless and self-destroying to focus on and I would much rather pick up the phone myself and take the initiative. That makes me feel good. Even if you get a no.
But sometimes it's really a struggle not only feeling on the outside culturally but linguistically at well. My understanding of Danish is udmærket (excellent) but anyone can tell you that when it's the end of the day, mastering any foreign language becomes the ultimate challenge. Unfortunately for me, I start to space out and imagine myself in Trinidad, Corsica, Portugal, doing all that research I was born to do.
But what happens is a discussion about children and reading and what I heard was this: Parents at a loss at how to get their kids to read. What is interesting is that I've never had that problem with Kai and that is because books are such an integral part of my life. When you walk into my apartment, good luck on not tripping over any. Kai, no surprise, is very much the same way now. He reads voraciously. Part of this has to with his hearing: Watching television is just not as enjoyable for him as it is for hearing children. I should also add another thing though: Anni, Kai's grandmother and the cream in his puff, is also a voracious reader. So Kai makes positive connections when it comes to reading and as a result, he is a reader. No higher math here, just children falling for one of the most basic intuitive traps: modeling.
So the teacher asked these parents: Well, what is your relationship to reading? Do they see you reading?
Now I know reading a book can not be every one's priority, but it is interesting to take note of how the role of reading figures into our lives, not only individually, but culturally as well. I don't know, but I don't believe the myth that people don't read anymore. That certainly doesn't seem to be the case when I board trains and airplanes...so what's really going on here?
Well, this begs for an even longer piece.
Last night Shine arrived! I saw my friend's band Shine perform and they were amazing. I will write more on this fantastic group and give links to songs in my next entry.
Take care and remember the meaning of life: To be alive!
Peace,
lab