My name is Anna Ernst, I am 26 years old, I am a first-year seminarian at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, I am a white cisgendered heterosexual non-Native American citizen, and I am tired.
I am tired of cruel, hateful discrimination against those who identify outside of the gender binary or of a sexual orientation other than heterosexual, particularly in Arizona in the United States of America, in Russia, in Uganda, and in Zimbabwe.
I am tired of hearing about the student loan debt that weighs down my friends and loved ones after they graduate, and about the medical debt that can weigh down those of any age.
I am tired of war, of chemical gases being waged as destructive weapons on humans and the environment, of suicide bombers, of terrorism.
I am tired of not talking about our mental health and well-being, about how it really is a factor that affects our life every day. I am tired of not hearing that seeking help for yourself is courageous, as is encouraging others to seek help. I am tired of us not keeping an eye on each other.
I am tired. But right now, I am awake.
I am awake, yet all these realities of life and more make me so tired.
While I'm awake, I'm transforming these realities, one step at a time.
There are still 12 stories to be written about 2010-2013. Someday they will come out.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Monday, August 5, 2013
1. The day the toilet overflowed
A Thursday evening in mid-December, 2011. I am standing in the community room at an apartment complex which shall be given a fake name to avoid possibly besmirching its Internet search reputation with this story. Let's call it Kings Place. (The names of all people in this story have been changed as well.)
I have been single-handedly "in charge" of an after-school program that operates at Kings Place for two or three weeks now, and I don't really have any other choice, if I want to keep my job, than to just go with the flow. It's about 7:00 pm, and the two after-school program assistants, Sam and Latisha, are standing, talking and laughing with about 8 - 10 of our kids (grades K - 5) and a few of their parents. In a frantic, last-minute attempt to meet the programming requirements of a "Family Literacy" grant (there were insane financial requirements to be met, too, but that's another story), my executive director , Elizabeth, has charged me with running a few parent and kid joint evening education sessions. Tonight, Sam and Latisha talked with our kids, who are all black or Latino/a and live in Kings Place or in nearby complexes, about the importance of career planning and saving money, while another person from my organization came and talked about homeownership to a few parents in the back room. We had pizza to bribe/get everyone interested in coming. It wasn't my favorite task, but I'll take any guidance, planning and help I can get from Elizabeth at this point.
I have been single-handedly "in charge" of an after-school program that operates at Kings Place for two or three weeks now, and I don't really have any other choice, if I want to keep my job, than to just go with the flow. It's about 7:00 pm, and the two after-school program assistants, Sam and Latisha, are standing, talking and laughing with about 8 - 10 of our kids (grades K - 5) and a few of their parents. In a frantic, last-minute attempt to meet the programming requirements of a "Family Literacy" grant (there were insane financial requirements to be met, too, but that's another story), my executive director , Elizabeth, has charged me with running a few parent and kid joint evening education sessions. Tonight, Sam and Latisha talked with our kids, who are all black or Latino/a and live in Kings Place or in nearby complexes, about the importance of career planning and saving money, while another person from my organization came and talked about homeownership to a few parents in the back room. We had pizza to bribe/get everyone interested in coming. It wasn't my favorite task, but I'll take any guidance, planning and help I can get from Elizabeth at this point.
We're all standing around, and I think one of the kids comes out of the bathroom behind me and tells me something is wrong. And I'm not sure what hits me first - the water coming out of the bathroom floor, running into the cabinet where we keep the paints, or the smell.
We get everyone out, including the man from my organization who observes the problem and says "Oh no" and eats a slice of the remaining pizza and leaves, and then it's just me, Sam and Latisha, as the water keeps coming out of the toilet and the smell keeps getting stronger. Sam says, "That is raw sewage. Do not stay here." He leaves with Latisha and I am alone. The water, which basically by now is not just water, keeps coming. It's hit the step that goes up to my office (which, lucky for me, is and will remain above the level where the sewage is flowing) - it's hit the table legs, the bottom of a bookshelf, under the fridge, and it's soaking into the rug.
I don't know who I called first. I didn't even think to call the property manager right away. The woman who was supposed to be co-supervisor of the program with me, Tracy, did email his name to me, in the minutes where she remained in the office after she had announced her resignation at a staff meeting that morning and before she drove away never to be seen again - on my 4th day of work. But I hadn't figured out yet that in apartment complexes, property management and the emergency maintenance staff is absolutely the first person you should call with a maintenance emergency. And I don't know what the emergency line is. I call the manager's office and leave a message.
Then I called Elizabeth, my boss, and then I think I Googled emergency plumbing companies. I found a number for one in DC nearby and called - receptionist says he can send a plumber out to me in about an hour and a half. I hang up the phone. Outside my office, the sewage is still spilling out, with a greater flow rate every time someone in the apartments above the community room flush their own toilets. There is no avoiding it now, and I've got to get out of the room. I gingerly hold up my skirt and step through the sewage, in my nice black leather boots that will go into a paper bag and into the trash when I get home.
I go outside, sit on the curb of the parking lot, and cry for awhile. It's dark, and I work in an apartment complex in an area of Prince George's County where the poverty rate is high and it's a struggle for many residents to make rent and keep the lights on. In a month or two, a young man will be shot in one of the hallways of the complex. A month or so after that, four young brothers (all in elementary school), along with the 20+ other kids in the program, will see their uncle chased by a police officer during an outside play break.
I'm not really scared, and I am where I want to be. I'm just super fucking frustrated.
The plumber shows up. I go inside with him. The farthest edge of the sewage has made it about 15-20 feet or so from the bathroom, across the rug, to the door of the community room. His eyes widen. I go back outside while he scopes it out. He comes out and says "it's going to be $450." We discuss payment options. I have no company checkbook. The charge ends up going on my credit card. (I am reimbursed immediately the following day out of my organization's emergency fund.) He takes a big plumber's snake in and is basically able to make it down to the jam and get the flowing to stop, after about 30-45 minutes worth of work. He packs up his equipment. I lock up, get in my car and drive home. It's about 10:00 pm.
I am exhausted, cry a bunch more, and make it 7/8 of the way home by thinking about the joys of a shower. But as I make it to the second to last turn to get to my house, at about 10:20 pm, a thought comes to me. It could be worse. I have a full time job. I am working with children and families who have less than I have, and my presence will make a positive difference in their quality of life. I have a shower and a bed and a home to go to, and a car to get me there.
I'm all right.
The next morning, when I come into the community room, two porters are mopping and cleaning up the sewage. They throw away the rug and sanitize as best as possible the edges of the furniture that were hit by the sewage. In a few months, I will assist one of them with her family's applications for food stamps and Medicaid. The property manager stops by in the afternoon.
Christmas break is coming and I'll be able to deal with the piles and piles of unfiled confidential client data, printed out emails, miscellaneous grant information, kids work, community event fliers, and office supplies that my predecessor left out in shelves and on desks and in file drawers, during that week when the after-school program is not in session. I'll plan meetings with Sam and Latisha and try to make our working relationship as good or better than what they had with previous supervisors, and together we will make some plans for working with our 20+ kids. I'll advertise for volunteer tutors and maybe we'll hire someone else.
It could be worse.
I go outside, sit on the curb of the parking lot, and cry for awhile. It's dark, and I work in an apartment complex in an area of Prince George's County where the poverty rate is high and it's a struggle for many residents to make rent and keep the lights on. In a month or two, a young man will be shot in one of the hallways of the complex. A month or so after that, four young brothers (all in elementary school), along with the 20+ other kids in the program, will see their uncle chased by a police officer during an outside play break.
I'm not really scared, and I am where I want to be. I'm just super fucking frustrated.
The plumber shows up. I go inside with him. The farthest edge of the sewage has made it about 15-20 feet or so from the bathroom, across the rug, to the door of the community room. His eyes widen. I go back outside while he scopes it out. He comes out and says "it's going to be $450." We discuss payment options. I have no company checkbook. The charge ends up going on my credit card. (I am reimbursed immediately the following day out of my organization's emergency fund.) He takes a big plumber's snake in and is basically able to make it down to the jam and get the flowing to stop, after about 30-45 minutes worth of work. He packs up his equipment. I lock up, get in my car and drive home. It's about 10:00 pm.
I am exhausted, cry a bunch more, and make it 7/8 of the way home by thinking about the joys of a shower. But as I make it to the second to last turn to get to my house, at about 10:20 pm, a thought comes to me. It could be worse. I have a full time job. I am working with children and families who have less than I have, and my presence will make a positive difference in their quality of life. I have a shower and a bed and a home to go to, and a car to get me there.
I'm all right.
The next morning, when I come into the community room, two porters are mopping and cleaning up the sewage. They throw away the rug and sanitize as best as possible the edges of the furniture that were hit by the sewage. In a few months, I will assist one of them with her family's applications for food stamps and Medicaid. The property manager stops by in the afternoon.
Christmas break is coming and I'll be able to deal with the piles and piles of unfiled confidential client data, printed out emails, miscellaneous grant information, kids work, community event fliers, and office supplies that my predecessor left out in shelves and on desks and in file drawers, during that week when the after-school program is not in session. I'll plan meetings with Sam and Latisha and try to make our working relationship as good or better than what they had with previous supervisors, and together we will make some plans for working with our 20+ kids. I'll advertise for volunteer tutors and maybe we'll hire someone else.
It could be worse.
Monday, June 3, 2013
0. Preamble
During Lent this year, Pastor Miller let me practice preaching, which I haven't gotten to do in awhile.
It's a little long-winded, which is what happens when you try to be spontaneous and wing it sometimes, but I'm pretty proud of what came out in the last 7 minutes or so.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Thirteen stories
The last time I wrote a substantial blog post on this blog was in the fall of 2011. I remember typing away, alone at Mom and Dad's, on the dining room table, with cover letters, resumes, and lots of scribblings about life strewn around me.
Now I'm on my bed in my Hyattsville room, so, as those of you who know what my room usually looks like know, there's a whole lot more surrounding me than life scribblings.
Since the last time I substantially blogged, I have gotten my first "real" salaried job, been laid off for the first time from my first "real" salaried job, retained a part-time hourly job from the same organization for which work is somewhat equivalent to throwing yourself in an inferno from which I have emerged stronger, more empowered, and more determined than ever before, returned to the mothership of Oberlin, OH (a whole buncha times) AND to Spain, visited NYC (a whole buncha times), Chicago, the one and only Bay Area, and Clearwater Beach, been to (sorry but it's true) four weddings and a funeral, applied to seminary, been accepted to seminary, made a whole bunch of new friends including a whole slew of people that hang out at a fun house in Hyattsville, and done my best to treasure and enrich my relationships with friends who have been there for awhile and family that remind me why I am so blessed every day.
So. I could expand more on that laundry list, or do this:
I'm committing to thirteen stories before I pack up and move to Hyde Park to begin studies at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago sometime in mid-August. 13 for 2013, though there'll be a whole lot of 2012 in there of course. 13 stories from work in youth, family and social services, or weddings, or airports, or Spain, or a continued struggle to honor a certain pianist and his family, or...maybe even thoughts towards the future. (We'll see if those fit the bill.)
Thirteen stories in which, free of my desire to meticulously edit and re-write and think about putting forth my absolute yes-ma'm very best for seminary applications, I can just write and tell you about what I've been living for the last year and a half or so. Some of these stories you may have heard before. Some you may not have. (Yup, even you, Mom.)
Cool? Let's do it. And thank you for reading.
Now I'm on my bed in my Hyattsville room, so, as those of you who know what my room usually looks like know, there's a whole lot more surrounding me than life scribblings.
Since the last time I substantially blogged, I have gotten my first "real" salaried job, been laid off for the first time from my first "real" salaried job, retained a part-time hourly job from the same organization for which work is somewhat equivalent to throwing yourself in an inferno from which I have emerged stronger, more empowered, and more determined than ever before, returned to the mothership of Oberlin, OH (a whole buncha times) AND to Spain, visited NYC (a whole buncha times), Chicago, the one and only Bay Area, and Clearwater Beach, been to (sorry but it's true) four weddings and a funeral, applied to seminary, been accepted to seminary, made a whole bunch of new friends including a whole slew of people that hang out at a fun house in Hyattsville, and done my best to treasure and enrich my relationships with friends who have been there for awhile and family that remind me why I am so blessed every day.
So. I could expand more on that laundry list, or do this:
I'm committing to thirteen stories before I pack up and move to Hyde Park to begin studies at the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago sometime in mid-August. 13 for 2013, though there'll be a whole lot of 2012 in there of course. 13 stories from work in youth, family and social services, or weddings, or airports, or Spain, or a continued struggle to honor a certain pianist and his family, or...maybe even thoughts towards the future. (We'll see if those fit the bill.)
Thirteen stories in which, free of my desire to meticulously edit and re-write and think about putting forth my absolute yes-ma'm very best for seminary applications, I can just write and tell you about what I've been living for the last year and a half or so. Some of these stories you may have heard before. Some you may not have. (Yup, even you, Mom.)
Cool? Let's do it. And thank you for reading.
For the sake of chronological order
A blog post inside a blog post. so meta.
http://annainomaha.blogspot.com/2012/10/lots-of-videos.html
Turns out I posted this in ye old LVC blog...but I'm pretty sure I meant to post it here. Okay, now we're all good.
http://annainomaha.blogspot.com/2012/10/lots-of-videos.html
Turns out I posted this in ye old LVC blog...but I'm pretty sure I meant to post it here. Okay, now we're all good.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
What a year! (in song and picture)
January - August: Omaha
January: St. Paul
February:
March: Iowa
April: Oberlin
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=574716835734&set=a.561319449204.2078558.4305485&type=3&theater
One of the happiest parts of the year for me...so honored.
May: Denver
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=592704847614&set=a.592704298714.2084074.4305485&type=3&theater
June - August: Summer Omaha Ultimate League
August: San Francisco
August - December: good ol' Chevy Chase
November: Boston
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=610757914124&set=a.610757899154.2089215.4305485&type=3&theater
December: New York City
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=2813041202610&set=a.2813015681972.2140717.1156186137&type=3&theater
Looking forward to a wonderful 2012!
January: St. Paul
February:
March: Iowa
Song of the year, probably.
April: Oberlin
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=574716835734&set=a.561319449204.2078558.4305485&type=3&theater
One of the happiest parts of the year for me...so honored.
May: Denver
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=592704847614&set=a.592704298714.2084074.4305485&type=3&theater
June - August: Summer Omaha Ultimate League
August: San Francisco
August - December: good ol' Chevy Chase
November: Boston
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=610757914124&set=a.610757899154.2089215.4305485&type=3&theater
December: New York City
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=2813041202610&set=a.2813015681972.2140717.1156186137&type=3&theater
Looking forward to a wonderful 2012!
Monday, November 14, 2011
Twenty...something. (Part 2)
You may have seen this before, but life is beautiful.
Fall in the DC area has seemed especially beautiful to me this year. I guess it's because I haven't spent one here for 5 years. Fall was beautiful in Ohio, too, and I think it was in Omaha but I can't remember - it was such a busy, emotional, intense people-filled time. (I know that football happened.)
This fall, I've had the privilege to go for walks and runs in many different parts of the area - on the trails I grew up on, in the farmers' markets of Kensington and Silver Spring, Columbia Heights and Dupont Circle, the neighborhood. I wonder if I've been thinking about the beauty because, for the first time in a long time, I've had time and space to think. Sure, underemployment has been in the back of my mind since August, but recently I've thought more about enjoying the space it's giving me.
And, wonderfully weirdly and unexpectedly, the opportunities. I've gotten to interview everywhere from right on U Street, to Hyattsville, to Rockville, to the freakin' Audubon Naturalist Society in good ol' Chevy Chase right off of Jones Mill Road that I went to in elementary school. Every interview opportunity, I've recently realized, has given me the opportunity to get to know my home all over again. And begin to think about calling it home in a new way, as an Anna with some new experience under the belt that I wear almost every day.
This has been my twenty something so far. Leave high school saying goodbye to wonderful friends, and go to college, and go to El Salvador, and go to Spain, and live in a brand-new U.S. city for a year and see more of the country, and make a ton of wonderful friends of all ages and walks of life, and then come home with all those new experiences and friends in my life AND get to re-connect with home, and old friends again. Discover and learn about the world and myself along the way, and the whole time, particularly when the going gets tough, try my hardest to remember that I have an incredibly wonderful, interesting, dynamic, supportive family. Especially the immediate ones. Mom, Dad and Daniel, I love you so much.
I am the luckiest lady I know.
So. Now what? What am I gonna do now that I think I want to be here for at least another year and a half?
For a little while longer, I gotta keep writing cover letters. Keep working part-time in the office at Saint Luke. Thanksgiving came early for me this year, when I realized just how fortunate I am to have a good job this fall - it may be the not very mentally stimulating tasks of opening doors, stapling bulletins, and stuffing envelopes, but I get to work in a comfortable environment and I also get to work in a food pantry.
Keep counting my blessings. I am especially grateful this time for the ones that currently live within a 10 mile radius.
And, as Jamie Cullum sings, "I'm a twenty something and I'll keep being me."
That is so wonderful. And beautiful.
Fall in the DC area has seemed especially beautiful to me this year. I guess it's because I haven't spent one here for 5 years. Fall was beautiful in Ohio, too, and I think it was in Omaha but I can't remember - it was such a busy, emotional, intense people-filled time. (I know that football happened.)
This fall, I've had the privilege to go for walks and runs in many different parts of the area - on the trails I grew up on, in the farmers' markets of Kensington and Silver Spring, Columbia Heights and Dupont Circle, the neighborhood. I wonder if I've been thinking about the beauty because, for the first time in a long time, I've had time and space to think. Sure, underemployment has been in the back of my mind since August, but recently I've thought more about enjoying the space it's giving me.
And, wonderfully weirdly and unexpectedly, the opportunities. I've gotten to interview everywhere from right on U Street, to Hyattsville, to Rockville, to the freakin' Audubon Naturalist Society in good ol' Chevy Chase right off of Jones Mill Road that I went to in elementary school. Every interview opportunity, I've recently realized, has given me the opportunity to get to know my home all over again. And begin to think about calling it home in a new way, as an Anna with some new experience under the belt that I wear almost every day.
This has been my twenty something so far. Leave high school saying goodbye to wonderful friends, and go to college, and go to El Salvador, and go to Spain, and live in a brand-new U.S. city for a year and see more of the country, and make a ton of wonderful friends of all ages and walks of life, and then come home with all those new experiences and friends in my life AND get to re-connect with home, and old friends again. Discover and learn about the world and myself along the way, and the whole time, particularly when the going gets tough, try my hardest to remember that I have an incredibly wonderful, interesting, dynamic, supportive family. Especially the immediate ones. Mom, Dad and Daniel, I love you so much.
I am the luckiest lady I know.
So. Now what? What am I gonna do now that I think I want to be here for at least another year and a half?
For a little while longer, I gotta keep writing cover letters. Keep working part-time in the office at Saint Luke. Thanksgiving came early for me this year, when I realized just how fortunate I am to have a good job this fall - it may be the not very mentally stimulating tasks of opening doors, stapling bulletins, and stuffing envelopes, but I get to work in a comfortable environment and I also get to work in a food pantry.
Keep counting my blessings. I am especially grateful this time for the ones that currently live within a 10 mile radius.
And, as Jamie Cullum sings, "I'm a twenty something and I'll keep being me."
That is so wonderful. And beautiful.
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