HomeFREE again - My pilgrimage to the far rockaway polls.

I am not sure what compelled me to take the nearly three-hour pilgrimage back to the Rockaways to cast my ballot today. This election day, I dressed in my casual corporate uniform: charcoal gray pin-striped suit, white spread collar French-cuffed shirt, no tie, and polished Mezlan black lace-ups w/well-defined French ticking. I eschewed Governor Cuomo's 11th hour executive order providing a reprieve for those displaced by Sandy's wicked visit to the Rockaway peninsula. The order allows residents from devastated areas, like me, to cast provisional ballots at any polling center in NY State. So why not take the easy way out? Why not walk the two short blocks in these polished shoes, just around to the south side of Washington Square park and cast my provisional ballot while chatting with the special woman who affords me the opportunity to call the Greenwich Village my temporary home? Maybe my commitment isn’t provisional. Maybe because my presence there, living in comfort, contrasts too sharply against the conditions that exist in and around my Rockaway Beach home. Or maybe it’s simply that I continue to vote, in person, no matter the conditions. I vote in part because of my desire to pay homage to those who died for this privilege, this right, this responsibility. Maybe because I wanted to feel the excitement of 2008 all over again, standing on a long line, listening to stories how this president is going to make a difference.

I commenced this pilgrimage with a book, banana, and apple in hand; heading back to an area that is more than a week without power, cell, or network services. The eastbound A train is eerily empty – had I made the right decision? Where is everybody? Lefferts Bvld, Far Rockaway, Rockaway Beach shuttle; Rockaway Parkway is major stop for the eastbound A trains. After the 10-mile trip, I wondered where are all the service change signs with the MTA trademarks were posted? Transit workers? All the confusion that service changes brings? Where are the rest of "us" making our way to the consolidated polling center in Far Rockaway? Was the MTA expecting any of the Rockaways evacuees to use the subway as a conduit to return today to vote? Yeah, I saw the Rockaway portion of the MTA recovery map; it was grayed out and grim, but still, I expected something more from the MTA on election day.

Google maps filled in what the MTA lack and helped me find my connecting bus back to the peninsula – Q53. A large group of volunteers made up half the commuters, chatting about everything but what lay ahead of them. The rest of the bus was filled with those making their way to the Rockaways to check on their home, family, and friends. The slow procession through Broad Channel offered an up-close examination and a healthy dose of speculation of how the devastation played out on the narrow strip of land. How the water vessels tried to be strangely amphibious but failed, and died on land, becoming an obstacle to terrestrial vehicles navigating the roadway. Cars abandoned and pushed aside to make room for the dump trucks and excavators dressed in sanitation skin to remove the mounds and mounds of street, beach, and household debris. Upon reaching the peninsula, the Q53 took an unexpected right turn, away from my intended destination.

My pilgrimage started in earnest as I dismounted the off-course Q53 and headed east on Beach Channel Drive towards Mott Ave some 6 miles away. Mounds of sand and debris coated the sidewalks and streets. My shiny shoes were clear evidence of my lack of preparation for this pilgrimage. I thought this might be a good time to consume half of my rations, and the banana was the first to go. Amongst all of the debris, how ironic was it for me to hold on to the skin of my consumed banana for 4 blocks until I saw an upright garbage can. I laugh at myself for at least 8 blocks until a very sobering moment when I heard a rumble behind me. I stepped far away from the street, so not to interfere with the oncoming convoy. National Guard hummers and service vehicles carrying much needed supplies to areas in and around the Rockaways. A few blocks ahead, on 95th street, I passed a relief station where hundreds of people waited in line to receive water, pb&j sandwiches, coffee, tea, and blankets. I reminded myself of the location and thought that if my apple wasn't enough, I would surely circle back for some hot tea. A few blocks farther, the formula for "handling" the residents becomes evident as it is repeated at each city-run housing complex. Heavy National Guard presence that includes food truck, water supply, charging station, clothes and blanket distribution. As I walk by this reoccurring scene, I notice a bus ahead. I kick up lots of sand running for that bus.

When I reached the bus, I realized there was no need to run. The bus was scheduled to depart in the next two minutes. I asked the driver for the route number of the bus, thinking maybe I can catch it on my way back; you often hear of the pilgrimage but seldom of the return... I planned on returning. To my absolute surprise, I had just caught the Voting Shuttle, taking residents to and from the consolidated voting center. The MTA may not have planned for displaced voters to return to the peninsula, but at least it planned for the collective participation of those who remained. At several stops, the bus paused long enough to pick up groups of enthusiastic voters, mostly elderly and mostly people of color. The conversations on the bus ranged from light and joyous to heavy-hearted. Some voters made a decision that it was important to vote first, then return to stand on the relief food line. One gentleman commented, “It’s about the long game, not the short game. Obama is here, not like Bush, we can feel his help reaching us.” Another reminded his group, “I got a full charge on my phone at the charging station." Some folks were skeptical of the services being provided by FEMA, but all seem to have the same since of prioritization summed up best by a woman who said, “I only get to do this [vote] once in every four years and I am not going to miss voting.”

We arrived at the consolidated polling station, energized and ready to vote. Surprisingly, the polling station was well staffed and I easily found my district’s check-in. While it took me nearly 3 hours to travel from the Greenwich Village to Far Rockaway Queens, it took a total of 10 minutes to pay homage to my ancestors by exercising my right to vote. My shoes are completely soiled but my soul is beyond clean.







Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

WEEK 20: MINDSET - homeBOUND

Week 18 - CLOSED

TODAY I FINALLY CLOSED! THANK YOU TO ALL THAT HAVE ASSISTED ME IN THIS EFFORT, STAY TUNED FOR THE THANK YOU PARTY!!!

Week 17: TARGET – Bed Stuy, Brooklyn

Closing update – The closing did not occur on the 11/17 as some critical steps in the process did not happen in time. Promises are being made for a 11/30 closing since schedules are restricted by the Thanksgiving holiday. Enjoy the time with family and friends.

“Talent hits a target no one else can hit; Genius hits a target no one else can see. “

~  Arthur Schopenhauer

Week 16: MOVEMENT – CLUB 602, Harlem USA 11/10

Closing update – The TCO ARRIVED TODAY. Efforts are being made to secure the closing for 11/17, however it looks unlikely, as calendars are not lining up for all players. It also appears that the loan file was not kept current. I crossing my fingers but remain doubtful. At least there is movement.

“Never confuse movement with action.“

~  Ernest Hemingway  

Week 15: ANGRY – CLUB 602, Harlem USA

Closing update – The 3 page letter drafted last week proved helpful in moving the folks to start completing the task closing. The house is near complete with some minor items on the punch list. The head of construction is promising to get the TCO within the week and close within two weeks! Lets see how this goes.

“Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more hurtful to us than the injury that provokes it.“

~ Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Week 14: TRUTH – Fort Greene, Brooklyn

Closing update - those who know me know that I am a mild mannered man who seldom has his feather's ruffled by event or circumstance. My position is that things will work out. Today however, I am so f*cking upset, as I have learned that little work has been done since I last left the property. Promises and assurances on part of the team that is employed to see the completion of this construction have not been performed as contracted. I have instructed my attorney to investigate and exploit all recourse, compensation and litigation options for what I consider to be egregious actions of the builder, contractor and hired subs. I am frustrated not in the process, as delays are expected, but in the honesty or lack there of from the people who are employed to carry out the tasks and responsibility of honoring the contract that holds my funds in escrow. There is no sense of urgency to complete this task and I am nothing short of being livid!

I spent the morning drafting a letter to all parties associated with the sale, construction and closing on this house; from the no-name advertising manager to the CEO of the company and everyone in between. I have not been able to make informed decisions as omissions, half-truths and out-right lies

“The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity. “

~  Edna St. Vincent Millay

TRUTH – It is safe to say that I haven’t always been super honest or semi honest for that matter. However, after the loss of my marriage and family unit as I knew it, I decided to practice a better form of honesty; one that allows me to share my hopes, fears, opinions and outcomes with compassion and compromise. I haven’t fully perfected this practice but have improved by adopting a deep principle and belief that I never again take choices away for people. My transparency is present to assist in making informed choices. I continue to influence and provide perspective however I make a strong effort not to employ the lie or the convenience of omission.

As I engage people in a conversation regarding truth and the application of truth in their everyday affairs, I am often surprise how little people appreciate the truth. The convenience of a lie seems to make all things better. I am currently reading Walter Mosley’s latest book, “Twelve Steps Towards Political Revelation”. Having struggled with addiction and recovery, Walter draws parallels between the addictive ills of this country and his intimate knowledge of the 12 steps that are suggested to address and alleviate this country’s ills. I am particularly appreciative of STEP THREE: TELLING THE TRUTH. Below is an excerpt from this section. Mosley articulates my feelings with literary precision:   

I would suggest reading the entire book, as it is a quick read and is only $9 on the Kindle. If you wish to borrow my hard copy, please let me know.

Week 13: SOUNDTRACK – Fort Greene, Brooklyn

Closing update – Trying to understand why others are closing around me and I am not!!!

"Every generation needs a journey story; every generation needs a story about what it is to be transformed by geography, what it is to be transformed by encounters with cultures and people that are alien from yourself..."                                                                                                          

~ Jose Rivera

If every generation needs a journey story, then every generation needs a soundtrack that provides the music that articulates the mood of society. Gil Scott-Heron was a formative contributor to the soundtrack of the black pride and power movement and aids me in this blog entry.   

I have always believed hobbies to be vital to a healthy work life balance and if you are able to earn a living by doing something you truly love, all the better. Cooking, photography, painting, home automation and technology are all hobbies of mine. The later has been both my vocation and vacation for quite some time. Spending an additional week @ J’s allows me to forgo my muted blackberry experience for a full audio system as I am reminded that my hobby help create this solution.

I have enjoyed designing and configuring home audio systems that allow me to curse silence with the rhythm of my existence. The soundtrack of my homeFREEness needs no real order, randomly played genres and artists work well. However I do need a place for the music to be heard. I often employ my blackberry running Pandora or iHeartRadio as a means to satisfy and fuel this need.  Music is the first thing I address upon entry of my let space, trying to find solutions to ensure access to music gives me a great deal of peace and familiarity.

I missed the music that filled my home. Music in every room. Since I designed J's home audio solution, this lodge offered me a level of familiarity that I could easily navigate and enjoy. The playlist is eclectic and populated with some of my favorite artists. 

However, the Rockaways will take my audio designs to the next level, where the sound and the management of the sound will be ubiquitous. Speakers are hidden in the ceiling; access to my playlist and online music servers is easy from any mobile device. Controlling and playing different music in any of the 6 zones will be as effortless as tapping a screen.

Since pre-construction I decided that I wasn't building my dream home, rather I would build a simple home that would be a bit smarter than the average. One that would create order for the lifestyle I currently possess and one to accommodate the next 10 years.

My design starts by running CAT-5 cabling to key locations to control heat, air conditioning, security cameras, audio, video and entry access all from my mobile device. I wanted to provide order and access to the space remotely. Key-less entries will allow me to accommodate food deliveries when I am not home while securing and restricting access to key areas of my home and the attached rental space. A refrigerated drop box will hold fresh direct perishables and allow express scripts to replenish my insulin supply during the dog days of summer. No need to duplicate keys should friends fly in from JKF just 10 minutes away, user-ids and passwords will suffice. A security network will provide remote access to key points of entry but also will allow me to monitor whether the buffet requires replenishing a heaping pile of grilled grapefruit shrimp or if guest’s drinks need refreshing. Collecting energy consumption data from the online thermostat and HVAC system will allow me to build efficiencies to see a quicker return on my investment.

Now if I can just close on the space I can play in my hobby space!

Week 12: ORDER – Ditmas Park, Brooklyn

Closing update - none!

"Reason is the natural order of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning."               

~ C. S. Lewis

Order - the minute you step foot in Ms. Leveine's home the first thing that comes to mind is order, the second is to remove your shoes. You may be so inclined to utter rhetorically, "Who lives here? Or Does anyone live here?". "Yes, however could anyone else live here?" The space is always "photo shoot" fresh.

My Caribbean host left to an island not of her pedigree, off on a much needed holiday; leaving behind the stress of work and a list of items to "handle" before her return, 11 days later. The list was short and the time seemed to go quickly.  I decided I would use this stay at J's to just relax. I have been out every night since I started my homeFREEness just about 3 months ago, save few exceptions.

I can only imagine that dust is afraid to collect in any meaningful way, as J's wrath is swift and exacting. I remember installing her surround sound speakers with dust falling from the drill holes. I will take creative license in describing her actions as she used some Jedi, karate, "you are too young to know grasshopper" move to where the dust never actually hit the floor! And while working under these conditions seems intimidating, living in such pristine conditions is welcoming and refreshing. It is the emotional equivalent of having your sheets turned down, pillows fluffed and consuming the coco-dusted thai chili truffle thoughtfully placed on the corner of your turned-down bed by the head of housekeeping in a hotel that has way too many stars to be affordable.  Thanks J!

I equally miss the order of my own home. Morning routines of required cleaning, as I was never sure who would accompany me home. Carving out time to create spaces where things belonged, uncertain the occasion that would summon the need to ignite 25 candles to create the evening's ambiance; tea light wicks stood erect ready to respond to my amber ambiance request. Bamboo/cotton blend towels stacked as an invitation to relax and stay until morning. The morning exercise of meticulously making a bed that only those willing to sandwich themselves between the Egyptian cotton sheets could truly appreciate its feather bed comfort. Food and spices organized for a planned party of forty or an impromptu intimate dinner for two or three.

My son has become a student of this learned behavior. Arising at least twenty minutes earlier to ensure bed, toys and living room were in proper order. The pride and attention to detail in remembering and replacing the 25 tea lights whose wicks had expired. The order and independence of retrieving his apparel, showering, dressing, constructing breakfast and managing the massive 'fro was no small feat for Medium to accomplish in 60 minutes.

Week 11 – Proximity – Ditmas Park, Brooklyn

Closing update – no movement of any real value. The lender’s inspector finally arrived to record any property damage from hurricane (tropical storm) Irene. Irene was a factor in my life but little to do with the house. Her time here marked an interesting exchange of emotions and opportunity. As fast as she arrived, she departed taking a piece of me with her. I will remember her the same as I did for the blackout of ‘77 or the blizzard of ’78; reminiscing while hearing the soundtrack of chaos “where were your when the lights went out in NYC”  

“The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity. “

~  Edna St. Vincent Millay

Proximity - my stay in The Bronx challenged my understanding of the term and offered me the opportunity to reflect on the role proximity has and will play in my immediate and long term plans.

What is the significance of the distance we need to travel to be close to home, to work, to cultural institutions, to entertainment, to the people we care about and those we love? How does this distance affect our happiness, productivity, cultural connection and sense of community?

When you are residing in the shadows of the Throgs Neck Bridge, away from all that you know, save your wonderful host, proximity is the closest thing you consider when making decisions to engage in activities or not. And while my stay here was abbreviated, the distance from my own comfort zone was not.

Don't get me wrong; my Bronx living arrangement was as unique as the others. I have gravitated towards homeFREE agreements where vacationing residents were preferred for the comfort of existing in a space that affords me freedom from oversight, input or clothes for that matter. So rather than vacationing, my good friend Denise simply vacated! Her retreat was a mere 15ft above the leased space. She packed up and moved upstairs to accommodate her new guest.  Her gesture however was not free from stipulation. I fully support stipulations and have grown to deeply appreciate them by asking for the "house rules" and “what can I do while I am here”. This stipulation; the sweet presentation of a "honey-do" list, delivered with a big cheeky smile. My clever friend found a way to serve our collective interests, thank you Sista!

I met Denise (Sista) my freshman year while surveying for potential partnerships of the romantic kind. My search led me through the dorms of Bennett College. A private HBCU women's college in Greensboro, NC. Denise and crew offered no entry beyond the waiting area of the dorms but did offer an immediate connection to a friendship and covert access to Belles. Her Harlem demeanor was welcoming in the midst of my newfound Narolina friends.

Denise returned to NY the following year, the proximity of her presence depleted, however our friendship renewed and redefined. She became one of my NYC lifelines. We currently take access to information, entertainment and communication for granted in this "on-demand" world. However I remember receiving a paper copy of the NY Daily News, with David Dinkins gracing the cover in victory. It was sent to me via the US postal service on the I-85 super highway. iTunes, Napster and YouTube found their footings on the heels of kids pushing Mr. Magic and Red Alert cassette tapes. Denise was my "pusher" for all things NY; newspapers, tapes, hats and other NYC apparel. She bartered with a Harlem dialect that countered the deafening drawl of the surrounding southern accents.

Denise continues to be my pusher by being the first to alert me of NYC activities in the world of literacy, arts, education and entertainment. Often starting the conversation with, "hey Troy have you...", and most times I haven't. We all have friends like this, the ones that never miss a birthday by marking this annual event with a mailed birthday card. Since college, she has never missed honoring me in this manner, save this year. "Hey Troy, where do I send your card?" "Wow, you don't; homeFREE. Right!" Facebook?" "Facebook!"

Proximity often refers to only the distance between places, however it is the nearness to a place, time, order, occurrence or relation. So it is very possible to be in close proximity within a given relationship but far in the physical distance. Denise and I have proven this fact over our 25+ year friendship.  As I reflect on my homeFREE journey and struggle with the lost of proximity to home, work, play and people, I am reminded that it is my proximity to relationships that have been reexamined, redefined and renewed.

I will openly admit that there is some fear concerning the role proximity will play in my life moving forward. The fear isn't strong enough to halt, rather pause for purposeful pondering and planning. fishaGARDEN was a success in part because of its location. The Fort Greene location, just one neighborhood west of downtown Brooklyn where nearly 14 trains converge, offered great access for guest. Contrast fishaBLU, that will be located just two blocks from the beach and one block from the Beach 67th subway station; there is only one train that makes its way there.  Some will not travel.

For my entire professional life I have lived close to where I’ve worked. Distances as close as a home consulting office and as far as my 22 min commute to NYCDOE headquarters. I established technology offices less than 176 yards from my bed, assume office space less than 1.5 miles from District 13 headquarters and clocked in less than 7 blocks to the place where I taught sequential-1 mathematics and photography. Contrast all with my soon-to-be 55 minute commute from the Rockaways and I am fearing the commute. Not to mention the uncertain where Medium will attend middle school and what his commute will be like.  

I am a fan of culinary arts, roving from Brooklyn to Harlem via Fort Greene, Park Slope, Carroll Gardens, LES, West Village, SoHo, Mid-Town, UWS, UES and everything in between. Fort Greene offered lots of options to local and international fair; proximity to the Brooklyn, Manhattan and Billy-B bridges offered quick access to neighborhoods where I could find all that one could imagine. The Rockaways are a food desert, save Rockaway Taco and a handful of others.

Proximity to friends, work and entertainment will change. My lifestyle will change. Not sure of all that I will learn via this homeFREE journey, but I am sure that there will many changes.

Week 10: DESIGN – In the Shadows of the Throgs Neck Bridge, Bronx

Closing update – there is alignment; attorneys, construction manager, customer service agents, sales reps, building manager are now all reciting the same thing… “any day now”. These folks are touting the party line like a group of right wing politicians only commitmented to one thing… themselves! Save the plumber, no one seems to know why he (or she) hasn’t submitted the proper forms to the Department of Buildings, as this appears (in a David Copperfield sorta way) to be the missing link to satisfying the requirements for the CofO… the saga continues.    

“To some degree, to be creative you have to be selfish.”

- Meredith Norwood

Last week my homeFREEness brought me to Manhattan, a well-appointed bachelor’s dwelling with doormen that recognize you by name within 24 hrs of your arrival.  Thanks NT!

Columbus circle is an interesting part of the city for me. A place that serves as a point of reference for a span of my life that was carefree and open. The accelerated elevator ride seemed to catapult me through carefully constructed stories as time offered flashbacks of prior purposeful practice of naughty altitude rides serving as the prerequisite of pleasure beyond the sliding doorway. A time when rushing to consume slowly was part of a spontaneously scripted moment. Simple dinners digressed into the passionate thrill of redefining a lady in the men’s room; labeled dessert.

It was an extended moment shortly after my divorce, an instance that required solo trips to foreign places not specifically to find familiar companionship but not rejecting the invitation either. I was a bachelor whichever way you choose to describe it and being back in this building was a great opportunity to reflect on why I creatively constructed that space that now contradicts a new set of architectural requirements. “In order to have a Queen, you must be a King.” The balance of behaviors dictates the desired outcomes. Erecting a new opportunity in my life with antics of passionate playfulness not as some scripted selfish moment but rather a single complex dimension of the many facets of my expression of love and commitment.

Both the client and chief architect of my own existence, creating spaces to play in, while pretending to provide more left me with a compromised foundation for only temporary relationships. Creating a bachelor’s space was easy. Consider variety, fill with thoughtful accouterments; staples and surprises. Position the robe of resistance as a dare to the challenge of absolved contribution. Some considered, many did not, only those who believed change was in their favor or those who left their moral compass in the doorway of former lovers participated; the longest was short lived, the deepest amongst them played only in shallow areas. Playing in this space made for exciting memories, which were the only things that truly remained. These memories, references points if you will, now allow me to contemplate a more comprehensive design for supporting relationships. The desire to strike a design cord with contributing and consuming by owning the perspective of proprietor and patron has become my goal.   And while odd; failed attempts serves as regulations to a blueprint for something of greater value; something symbiotic and lasting; true foundation.

Most will agree that form and function are the bare elements of good design; one would want to seek inspiration to inform both. A voice, an embrace, a piece of writing, a smile, a policy, position, purpose or passion. Simply those things that one would want to experience as many times as that design efforts allows. The dignity of simplicity that evokes feeling, honesty, TRUTH.  Consider the how that painting, sculpture, book or faucet can inspire one to build a space to admire and showcase meaningful items. My inspiration for a new relationship design? Longevity within Intimacy. My regulation? Compassionate honesty.

Week 9: ROUTINES – Columbus Circle

Closing update – some closings are occurring near 156, so it appears CofOs are being issued. When will my CofO be issued? Only the Lord knows! I remain optimistic and grateful for the time spent with family, friends, colleagues and the occasional stranger.

“As long as habit and routine dictate the pattern of living, new dimensions of the soul will not emerge.”

Henry Van Dyke

As I leave The Bush, I am again filled with mixed emotions. Having dedicated time with J has been nothing less than rewarding and surprising. Days spent just vibin’ on all sorts of issues and topics. Her candor and insights; ingredients required to coax the residue effects of risks realized and significance dwarfed. My abbreviated muse moment ended partly due to a self-portrait of enhanced optimism the seemed to get in the way a reciprocating desire for a future state. Mutual moments of saving grace peppers a densely populated field of friendships and I am left inquiring how we got off message. However transparent, trust; trust of one’s self in the affairs of the heart is the real challenge.

J offers the acceptance that people walk into your life for a reason or a season, I continue to inquire; “what reason? which season?” Our friendship offers a super honest responsiveness, enjoying each others company save the 3:00 am-misplaced keys… get out of bed… down 6 flights… open the door… cause I’ve been hanging’ w/the fellas… and once inside… I want to play to guitar moments! The sadness of leaving that space is real and warranted, however for the sake of the very friendship I hold dear with her and others makes it necessary to vacate the let space. To not overstay my welcome. As I prepare to depart, I think about the routines established here and with others.

Since being HOMEFREE, Sundays have become the most predictable days of my homeFREEness.  Time spent rejuvenating my mind, soul and wardrobe. Routines of non routines. Routine of relocating; where? Routine of reflection; what? Routine of requisition; when? Routine of relationships; who? Routine of redesign, how?

Washing clothes, those I possess and those leased through our arrangement. Reflective by all means; and ends for that matter. Orchestrating departure, checking for missed or left items, packing memories and anticipating the next stay. New vibe, new space; how to prepare without pretention. How to continue to compartmentalize without compromise. How to be at home in someone else’s home. How to capture and share that moment?

“Make yourself at home”, a phase often spoken but seldom valued or executed with any real commitment. Inherently, I want to be a good guest, so making myself at home doesn’t really work. The routine of changing routines works. I want to be inspired but the spaces I occupy. I want to change the way life feels because I have had the opportunity to make it feel better.

Week 8: MI CASA – The Bush, 35th and Snyder

Closing update – attorneys are appearing to beef, but if you’ve been ‘round enuf folk posturing, selfishly entertaining each other, then you kno’ nuffin’ has changed! Not one single bit! I am sure someone I talk to will say, “no more than two weeks”! WTF?

“Courage is simply the willingness to be afraid and act anyway.”

Dr. Robert Anthony

This week I made my way to The Bush, mini west indies, largest Caribbean population outside of the Caribbean. Here in the shadows of carnival and the labor day parkway celebration that has some of the boys in blue misbehaving… care to wager on what happens… gimme nuffin’ on that! Double it!

I had the pleasure of spending some focus time with J, realizing how much of a friend she is. Supportive of my time and focus with Mish, helping me to take risks in relationships; blissfully considering more.  The conversation makes its way to fishaGARDEN and spent times; both missing the space and looking forward to assisting in creating fishaBLU.

fishaGARDEN was a carryover from college and san fran experiences. I tried to establish a space that positioned strangers and friends in close proximity, close enough to share their adventures. Lovin’ how they told stories, stories that made you like what they were saying and way they were delivering it. Laughter seemed a requirement for this space. When I walked into 175 Carlton, I knew. I knew it was exactly what I found, a place to call home. My realtor at the time, Lori knew what I was in search of and she came through on a call while I was in Denver for the week. “I found it. It has all that you required. When will you be back in town to see it?”

The four requirements were simple; new construction, less than two years old; two bedrooms for Medium and I to coexist; washer and dryer as I was still coming off my marathon high and running gear could not forgo a daily wash! Lastly I needed outdoor space. San fran had me appreciating the great outdoors and I never wanted to live again without the feeling derived from having a piece of earth, my piece of earth, that was exposed to the elements. Our walk through was quick and purposeful. Criteria matched closely and the lease price was manageable. “I’ll take it. Set it up.” That was August 2004. It was the start of a beautiful relationship with mi casa, that relationship gave birth to fishaGARDEN.

Like some of my most significant relationships, I knew upon entry what this space meant to me. Posturing on all 4 categories was a space standing ripe for shelter, safety, expression, pleasure and a petri dish for creating memories. The collection of rooms at 175 was resolved in proving to be the right scale and dynamics for the compartment I wished to play and reside in. While my assessment wasn’t perfect, the space was a blank canvas enough for me to express myself as a recently divorced father; priorities proved perfect. Despite the fact the kitchen was only missing one thing… drawers! How can you have a functional kitchen that produces 6 course meals and food enough to entertain 40 people in the garden with out kitchen drawers? You design it like a European kitchen and make use of every bit of the space above, below and inside cabinets.  My son’s room was the unique balance between form and function; a space that became a fort, a classroom, a roller coaster construction zone, a transportation guide and a reference for his growth; our growth.

There was a level of comfort one received upon entry at 175. Cozy, intimate, warm and even sexy were the terms used by guest. My connection to African art, as well as artist of color, was evident in every corner of mi casa. Each playbill carried memories of live performances and the companions that I was privileged and honored to have joined me. Versatility was a must; nearly 50 candles were lit on evenings that required an atmosphere of calm. Speakers placed in ubiquitous locations were responsible for providing the sound track of a fisha experience; close your eyes and hear Dexter Gordon blowing softly in the garden on a starry moonlit evening or Jay-Z playing while the card game got loud and jokes were flowing. I expanded my repertoire in this space. Culinary techniques, flavors, presentations, parenting and honesty, were amongst my expansions. Trust when I say there is still room for expansion and growth. Yet having a reference point; a home; goes a long way in understanding from which I came and where I intend on going.

Being homeFREE offers adventures to enjoy; some anticipated others not. However freedom has its price. Thus far, that cost has been bearable, but not desirable. I can’t remember the last meal I created as I dine out for every meal. I can’t remember the feeling of walking into a space that I created for my son and me. When I share what I have been doing for the last 8 weeks, I often hear, “You are out of control.” And while presented in jest, I am in fact out of control. There is little that I control as it relates to space or parcel of earth. Little versatility. Little control over the sound track of my life. Little space for the dignity of simplicity when parenting in public spaces. Reservations, homework across restaurant tables. I miss the intimacy of an environment that I call home.