Rick and I couldn't stop munching on the cubed potatoes. Smothered with French Onion soup mix and olive oil, they were undoubtedly the best part of the meal. We quickly reached the bottom of the bowl. Everyone had finished their plates (and most of the food on the table), so we decided it must be time to break out the desserts. These were the gift that Mr. Jesse Lott and Mr. Rick Lowe had brought to add to our weekly community dinner feast, and of which they were the VIP members this evening. As Gabrielle distributed to each of us a cupcake or cookie, I could barely contain the huge smile breaking out across my face. Because these weren't just any sweets. They were from the newly Christened bakery in our neighborhood, Crumbville, started by a mother whose business began as a result of the rave reviews she got for the cookies she made her favorite musician (J Cole) before attending one of his concerts. Through a series of fantastic coincidences, she managed to get a friend to sneak her delivery of fangirl sweets backstage. J Cole shouted her out later on Twitter for her “amazing chocolate chip cookies”, she gained traction with other (less famous) cookie lovers, and the rest is history. Gabrielle handed me a vegan almond butter cookie (Ella, the owner of Crumbville, specializes in vegan delicacies), and I looked up at our guests for the night.
Rick Lowe and Jesse Lott are two famous artists. Rick Lowe started a hugely successful public art installation space and community development non-profit in the Third Ward called Project Row Houses (the workplace of two of my housemates, and a frequent stop during our Saturday neighborhood walks). He's also a MacArthur fellow. Jesse Lott lived in the Third and Fifth Wards for the past 60 years and through a meandering but momentous journey has become a nationally known, iconic Afro-American artist. Among his many triumphs of creation, he built a 30 foot tall metal sculpture that bursts into the sky near the bus stop we all take to the grocery store each Friday. Two weeks prior to our dinner, I attended an art gallery opening where he was the featured artist. In the shadow of these two great men, my face was flush with the realization that I was sitting among people whose lives have made a deep impact on the individuals and the communities they found themselves in. In other words, these guys are living the dream and helping other people live theirs, too. As I sunk my teeth into the overwhelming goodness of my cookie and our lighthearted banter, I felt giddy with delight. As we chattered, our group conversation somehow meandered to the topic of music. As usual, I began boasting that I knew the drums, and pulled out my tiny hand-held Djembe to prove it. Mr. Jesse said, "Let me see that thing." He saddled the drums between his large, overall-clad knees, making it look like a toy and not so much a real instrument. He began to slap out a rhythm. The conversations around the table suddenly snapped shut, and the room grew quiet. Our shoulders began bobbing to his beat. Rick picked up his fork and started tapping it against his water glass. Now we were moving our heads along with shoulders. Taylor patted chopsticks on the back of her chair, Saajidah was clapping her hands, and I sang the words to a never-before-heard song that had no real lyrics or functional melody. Eventually all of us found a makeshift instrument (Gabrielle had even somehow located a ukulele in our closet), and all of the sudden we were a ragtag band, whooping and hollering and likely making the neighbors think we were some kind of modern-day speakeasy. It was a celebration for no reason. A coming together in mutual jubilation of a team of women fresh out of college, just beginning to pursue places in the world, and a duo of men deeply rooted and incredibly fruitful in the interest of serving their communities and living out their passions. And so it was, for ten minutes or two hours, our music making felt infinitely high and wide and deep and long, and as I woke the next day I wasn’t sure if it had all been a dream. Luckily, the cookie crumbs on our kitchen table confirmed its reality. Still the sweet smelling memory of this night can still bring an instant smile to my face and tingling encouragement to my heart when it grows weary. I believe there is a deeper lesson to this experience, too. And a truth that cries to be voiced. I believe that the Kingdom of God looks like celebration and reunion across dividing lines, like making noise and dancing and singing just because joy is everlasting, and like revolutionary friendships starting over cubed potatoes, cookies, and merry-making that has no definite start or finish.
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Author/soil science research assistant @ Rice U/ Archives
March 2017
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