Beyond Anonymous in a Storied Place

Community memory is created in the exchange of story. Sharing. Listening, Finding a common bond. My 1st community overshadows my current community. Exploring the dissonance and barriers to having ‘Here‘ feel like home.

My roots:
In the first settlement in Connecticut where an interstate cuts North and South
and meandering rivers still meet. Each year there is Shad Derby Day for all not just those with a fishing line over the bridge.There once was a movie marquee and a near 1st explosion of 31 flavors of Ice Cream, park ponds where ripples attracted Striders and dragonflies. Fresh coffee remains synonymous with A&P.  And it is truth that my 1st awareness of the world was from inside a tobacco barn. My 1st encounter with infamy, the naming of public schools: John Fitch and Kennedy. Thew was also a private school for boys and girls, merged, remaining a dipstick for courageous intellect, aspiring to places bigger than where Native American Indians once lived and youth gathered day and night in “the center”.
Memories flicker.

My residence:
The fourth relocation within Connecticut where the parkway cuts North and South
and an esplanade traverses one of many hilltops aside my front lawn. I chose relocation here with positive  personal historic context: a decade prior I was a welcomed presenter among civic-minded women. Then I traveled the rustic parkway rather than interstate to a satellite office in a re-purposed foundry. From farm-like neighboring community my children had a double hitter summer at Indian Y-camp and were enchanting by the library with a community TV station inside. They had love for both.
Memories, more like miss-perception.

My community service reentry: Celebrate or Taste of Wallingford Day becomes a day of re-acquaintance. Ironically encounters across a parade ground, school yards and trail became false positives: There was nearby walk-to-school paths but better to bus to the city decisions. PTAC members without Dag Awakenings awareness and a library maimed, absent the progressive inclusion of a Community TV facility. Culture was in other places, even promotion of poets that slam was discouraged, more so poets of color.  Discovery was commingled with a mystery story about silo-making: badgers, somersaulted ‘us’ into darkness.  Badgering asked, and asked again thereby designated for appointment to serve without scaffolding.
Feeling it. A center full of dead.

Be Freeman
My daily engagements with ‘the other’ happens where the mission is about barrier breaking
Twinkles become story: a blue chicken, a re-purposed barn, a face-off with history, a door to keep open to all, a my midlife consumed with powerful wild and free engagement.
To be the change I want to see in the world. I remain. Optimism opens one encounter at a time.

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