I had a rather fun weekend. I went to PowerUp 2010, a music workshop and choir bootcamp.
The highlight of the weekend was the opportunity for all of we Tremaine Hawkins wannabes to sing elbow to elbow with the fabulous Toronto Mass Choir ( a very talented and gracious bunch) under the leadership of Karen Burke, a woman who really knows what she's doing, what she wants from you and how to get it, all the while wearing warmth and a smile.
Our concert Sunday evening was hosted, in a way, by the Abilities Church. One of the presenters during the evening was the church's music pastor who is visually impaired. He belted out an impressive rendition of "I Can Only Imagine", with the mic in one hand and his white cane in the other.
While he was singing, a small group of people off to my left started clapping along. Rather quietly, a bit restrained. Clapping along in time. I joined them, not really sure why. It's a slower song, not the kind that gets people clapping, usually. Not Canadians, anyway.
But after a few bars I realized. When I'm standing on a platform singing, I can see the faces of the audience. I can see whether they're with me or not. Whether they're engaged. And that's a source of energy. A performer feeds off the energy of the audience to strengthen and deepen their presentation.
But a blind soloist can't do that. He'd be singing to invisible people.
So clapping along would let him know that we were there, and we were listening. With him.
I liked that.
Over the weekend, closer to home, there was a meeting of people interested in the housing issues for people like those who live at the Motel. The meeting was hosted by our brand new just born Not For Profit Corporation, which is loosely named after the motel, since we assume that the new owners will change the name in order to distance themselves from the locals' preconceptions about what goes on there.
(I missed the meeting because I was busy eating jerk chicken and singing gospel music with wonderful people.)
So the meeting on Friday afternoon was a brainstorming session, open to anyone interested in housing, health care and resource access issues specifically as they relate to those who are "difficult to house", as well as an invitation having been given to the Motelians.
One Motelian showed up for the chinwag. Another woman would have, but said she was too nervous about "getting on the bad side of the new owners." I'm sure there were others in the same boat. We've run into this before.
"Sure, those Dinner folks are nice enough, and they mean well, but what if they do something that pisses off the owners? And what if the owners think I'm their friend? They'll kick me out, and I'll have no place to go."
They've seen what happens to people who stick their necks out and they've only got one neck, so they won't risk it.
But in this case, while righteous anger is a tempting indulgence, we're going out of our way to communicate to the new owners that we're not going to be troublemakers, those pain in the butt activists who get up your nose. (Never let it be said I couldn't mix a good metaphor.)
One of us wrote to the new owners,
Which, on one hand is deeply objectionable. But on the other hand, it's understandable. They didn't want to be landlords in the first place and they're only talking to us out of basic human decency.
The future, for us, begins this week when the sale is completed and the name on the deed changes. The new owners tell us that they'll have a team of people move in on day one to start the 'clean up'. There'll be a conga line of dumpster trucks on their way to the 'landfill' taking away all of the old mattresses from the swimming pool and the damaged furniture, old TVs and whatever all else.
Here are a couple of shots I took of the swimming pool space. Note the classy chandelier and the skylights. And consider that this is half of the room. It's filled end to end a good 5 feet high, and it goes down 3 - 10 feet.
Click on the picture for a better view, and if you see anything you want, let me know before Wednesday.
What happens to Dinners is still indefinite, though we haven't been told to stop and we've promised the Motelians that we'll keep showing up as long as there's an open door.
And our flock of church ladies and men who've been cooking meals for the last few months are ready to keep on keeping on as long as the Amazing J. keeps scheduling them.
A couple of guys from the corp. team are going to design a
Keep praying for us, that we'll be wise. That we'll know when to shout and when to whisper. That we won't forget why we're there.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
r
The highlight of the weekend was the opportunity for all of we Tremaine Hawkins wannabes to sing elbow to elbow with the fabulous Toronto Mass Choir ( a very talented and gracious bunch) under the leadership of Karen Burke, a woman who really knows what she's doing, what she wants from you and how to get it, all the while wearing warmth and a smile.
Our concert Sunday evening was hosted, in a way, by the Abilities Church. One of the presenters during the evening was the church's music pastor who is visually impaired. He belted out an impressive rendition of "I Can Only Imagine", with the mic in one hand and his white cane in the other.
While he was singing, a small group of people off to my left started clapping along. Rather quietly, a bit restrained. Clapping along in time. I joined them, not really sure why. It's a slower song, not the kind that gets people clapping, usually. Not Canadians, anyway.
But after a few bars I realized. When I'm standing on a platform singing, I can see the faces of the audience. I can see whether they're with me or not. Whether they're engaged. And that's a source of energy. A performer feeds off the energy of the audience to strengthen and deepen their presentation.
But a blind soloist can't do that. He'd be singing to invisible people.
So clapping along would let him know that we were there, and we were listening. With him.
I liked that.
Over the weekend, closer to home, there was a meeting of people interested in the housing issues for people like those who live at the Motel. The meeting was hosted by our brand new just born Not For Profit Corporation, which is loosely named after the motel, since we assume that the new owners will change the name in order to distance themselves from the locals' preconceptions about what goes on there.
(I missed the meeting because I was busy eating jerk chicken and singing gospel music with wonderful people.)
So the meeting on Friday afternoon was a brainstorming session, open to anyone interested in housing, health care and resource access issues specifically as they relate to those who are "difficult to house", as well as an invitation having been given to the Motelians.
One Motelian showed up for the chinwag. Another woman would have, but said she was too nervous about "getting on the bad side of the new owners." I'm sure there were others in the same boat. We've run into this before.
"Sure, those Dinner folks are nice enough, and they mean well, but what if they do something that pisses off the owners? And what if the owners think I'm their friend? They'll kick me out, and I'll have no place to go."
They've seen what happens to people who stick their necks out and they've only got one neck, so they won't risk it.
But in this case, while righteous anger is a tempting indulgence, we're going out of our way to communicate to the new owners that we're not going to be troublemakers, those pain in the butt activists who get up your nose. (Never let it be said I couldn't mix a good metaphor.)
One of us wrote to the new owners,
While the residents of [the Motel] are not our sole focus (they are aware of our group), finding and offering solutions to them is a priority. Having said that, I should also make it clear that we don't, in any way, 'represent' or speak on behalf of the residents of the motel. We see ourselves as assisting individuals toward healthier and more secure living situations.The new owners have made it clear that anything that smells like a tenants' rights group is going to be a deal breaker, and they won't tolerate it.
Which, on one hand is deeply objectionable. But on the other hand, it's understandable. They didn't want to be landlords in the first place and they're only talking to us out of basic human decency.
The future, for us, begins this week when the sale is completed and the name on the deed changes. The new owners tell us that they'll have a team of people move in on day one to start the 'clean up'. There'll be a conga line of dumpster trucks on their way to the 'landfill' taking away all of the old mattresses from the swimming pool and the damaged furniture, old TVs and whatever all else.
Here are a couple of shots I took of the swimming pool space. Note the classy chandelier and the skylights. And consider that this is half of the room. It's filled end to end a good 5 feet high, and it goes down 3 - 10 feet.
Click on the picture for a better view, and if you see anything you want, let me know before Wednesday.
What happens to Dinners is still indefinite, though we haven't been told to stop and we've promised the Motelians that we'll keep showing up as long as there's an open door.
And our flock of church ladies and men who've been cooking meals for the last few months are ready to keep on keeping on as long as the Amazing J. keeps scheduling them.
A couple of guys from the corp. team are going to design a
list of questions to identify obstacles that we can use to help determine what help a person needs. Like, Do you have ID? Do you have health care? Have you applied for affordable housing? etc.That info will help us understand where to start and what needs to be done.
Keep praying for us, that we'll be wise. That we'll know when to shout and when to whisper. That we won't forget why we're there.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
r
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