It's Kind of a Long Story... about COMMUNITY

and Kintsugi.

Hey Drama Goblins,

I’m working on a longer piece that’s gonna take some time to get up and out of me, because I’m going down deep.

So this week’s is a relatively short story, but a sweet one.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lara

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Short Story

I’ve gotten a lot out of my local Buy Nothing group. This week, I gave something back.

Long Story

I grew up in LA, which people who didn’t, often think of as spread out, impersonal, and lacking in community and connection.

That wasn’t my experience.

Bordered by Melrose, Third Street, La Brea and Fairfax (well, maybe as far as La Cienega when the Beverly Center opened) What we used to call “the Beverly-Fairfax area” was a village within the sprawling city.

If you’ve visited in the last couple of decades, you know it’s now officially called The Fairfax District and is super bougie. When I was very young in the 70s, it was working class, overwhelmingly Jewish, and full of small businesses that served the local community.

The building at the end of my block that had some kind of sound studio is now a Heath Ceramics. The upholstery shops, and old folks homes and bakeries on Melrose gave way to fun and funky independent shops in the 80s like the terrifying to young me Poseur that sold punk rock gear like plaid pants with lots of zippers and studded collars, and Flip that sold bright, new-wave T’s and vintage pieces. You weren’t cool in 7th grade unless you had one of their army surplus canvas bags with a unique serial number.

I walked to school, had lots of neighborhood friends, and went from pre-school through high school with many of the same kids, and am still in touch with a lot of them.

We went to matinees at the Pan Pacific and Fairfax Theaters (RIP) shopped at weird gifts shops at the Farmer’s Market, and rummaged in the alleys for cool junk. We played and swam at Gardner Park, went to the library next door, and when we had a mere $.20 we bought Slurpees at 7-11 down the block.

There were the requisite neighborhood weirdos too. The guy with a bright blue pompadour and white coveralls who walked fast down the street, the old lady with the curly hair who giggled to herself and once offered to “eat your pussy for a dollar,” and the Lava Lady.

One of the many reasons A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is my favorite books is how lovingly the relationship between Francie and her hardscrabble neighborhood is depicted. A village within a metropolis.

And while my immediate neighborhood was very white and Jewish, my schools were not. The student bodies were very mixed. Black, Asian, Latino, Middle Eastern. First generation and immigrants. The schools weren’t all “good” if you judge purely by test scores, but I wouldn’t trade my education for one at a fancy private school. I learned a lot on the playground, hallway and quad.

We were doing DEI before it was cool

So when John and I made the decision to move to Marin, it wasn’t without a lot of deep reservations.

It made sense for us at the time. I was pregnant with Max. We were living in a semi-legal one bedroom in The City with no parking or laundry. I was working in Marin and John was working in Emeryville and our rental dollars could go a lot farther.

I’d never lived in a suburb before. I get claustrophobic thinking about living somewhere where I can’t walk to restaurants, stores and movies. I’ve joked about Marin, “If you like rich white people, you’ll love it!”

I knew if we moved here, Max wouldn’t have the rich childhood that I did. He’d always be the “poor kid.” I didn’t want to have to take him to the City to see people who didn’t look like him like visiting animals at the zoo.

And yet, move we did. And while he didn’t have the same kind of childhood I did, his was very good and safe and connected and rich in other ways. And while we were always the “poor family” and I was very, very envious of the moms who didn’t have to work, I (almost) never felt unwelcome, and formed connections and friendships that I still have 25 years later.

When John died, my community showed up for us immediately and in amazing ways. When the tree fell, they did too. I have lived in this ‘hood and this house longer than any other place I’ve lived. It’s home.

One of the things that makes my neighborhood great is our Buy Nothing group. When I talk about the Buy Nothing treasures I’ve gotten, people often say, “My Buy Nothing group is nothing like that!” I’ve been gifted everything from a like-new Keurig to a thick chef’s mat for the kitchen to a beautiful West Elm couch for the guest room.

I’ve borrowed a lint shaver, bubble machine, and coffee urn. I’ve lent clothes, costumes, and cake pans.

Like its intended mission, the San Anselmo-Fairfax Buy Nothing is about creating community as much as it is about giving and getting stuff. I love it.

A few months ago, I posted an ask for ceramics:

Kintsugi is the Japanese craft of repairing ceramics with what I think of as “rivers of gold.” The philosophy behind it is about embracing imperfection and making something beautiful from something broken. I also think of it as about the universe giving us second chances, and that there’s always a Plan B when things don’t go how you expect them to.

I got a few great pieces from my Buy Nothing post, and practiced my new hobby. I made Kintsugi for Christmas gifts, and repaired a few things for friends.

A couple of weeks ago, a Buy Nothing neighbor messaged me, asking if I was still doing Kintsugi. Her dog had broken a beloved pedestal bowl her husband had made in high school and she felt terrible about it. She offered to pay me, but I wouldn’t hear of it. The material costs are negligible, I had plenty of supplies, and I’d be happy to spend the time fixing it.

A few days later, she let me know she left the box with the broken pieces on “your back steps.” Um, I don’t have back steps. I called her and we laughed as I walked across the street to a neighbor’s house and found the box on their back steps.

I worked on it over the weekend, and on myself. It’s a process that takes some patience, and is a good practice in letting go of perfection, neither of which are my strong suits.

When it was done, I left it on my porch as I was leaving for the day and told her to come by anytime to pick it up. She did right away and was absolutely thrilled! She said she was going to try and hold out to for her husband for Father’s Day gift.

When I got home that night, I found that she had left me a bouquet of roses from her garden on my front steps.

My heart filled as I sniffed the beautiful blooms and found a place to set them. This is what community is. This is why I fought so hard to get back into my house. This is why I stay here even though it makes no financial sense.

This is home.

Lara Sez…

Listen!

80s Deep Cut of the Week!

Read!

Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef by Gabrielle Hamilton is a wonderful foodie biography. My favorite part is when she’s cranky and hungry and makes her husband keep driving because none of the places look good, “How bad does the food have to be for them to have to offer bottomless Mimosas?”

Couple of short stories…

1. I got to meet Ms. Hamilton when she was a guest on the food show on KGO

1. I went to her restaurant Prune (RIP) in NYC with and while my meal was delicious, I was bummed that my friend ordered sweetbreads and bone marrow. I tried a tiny bit of each, and as suspected, they grossed me out. I think this is probably when I first came up with my declaration that if I ruled the world, at restaurant meals with up to four people, everyone decides on dishes everyone wants to try and all plates are fair game. When there are more than four, you buddy up with the folks sitting next to and/or across from you.

Watch!

Hacks is hardly a hidden gem, but damn, the last season was great. If you’e been on the fence or meaning to watch, DO IT!

Eat!

I’ve been a long-time fan of Trader Joe’s “Hold the Cone” mini ice cream cones. I’ve tried ‘em all and none of the flavors compared to the classic vanilla. Until now! The new coffee bean ones are yum, and a very satisfying treat with only 80-ish calories.

Follow!

I recently discovered Practical Peculiarities on IG and it is so delightfully weird! It’s a continuous stream of creepy cooking.

Before I let you go…

I’m super scared about the election this year. I know we’re all very, very tired and burnt out, but we can’t let 2016 happen again. Please commit to doing something. Donate to a Dem. Write postcards to voters. Canvass door to door with a pal. There’s a role for each of us at whatever our skill, resources and comfort level.