Downtown Greensboro can be a lively place. Lots of things occurring – Carroll Companies new Center Pointe condos, the forever stalled International Civil Rights Museum and new hair salons aplenty. There are always a slew of folks to strike up conversations with, as well.

To the point:

I met a man today that will need to remain unnamed for now. I was standing by the opening of the International Civil Rights Museum when he approached me. We struck up a conversation about how long it’s taking the museum to actually open. Who really knows when, or if that will ever happen.

One conversation piece led to another, and he ended up having lots to say about mayor Yvonne Johnson, her husband Walter Johnson, Skip Alston, Earl Jones and other well-known Greensboro officials. Seemed to have a lot of dirt on a lot of people. Some of this dirt is already public knowledge. Some of it, I have a feeling, is not. Not common knowledge, at least.

I hope Mr. Information, as I’m calling him, will contact me within 30 days. That’s how long I’m giving him until I take the information he gave me to other sources who could confirm what he told me. In several areas of interest, I’m looking for very basic answers and transparency from the local government; I’m hoping Mr. Information can lead me on the right path.

Here are a few details I’m comfortable with sharing about Mr. Information. Anymore, and I’m afraid he won’t contact me:

* He’s a NC A&T Alum
* He’s not a Greensboro native
* He’s sassy as hell

There are too many people in Greensboro, especially young Greensboro professionals, musicians, artists and activists who feel like their voice has no place in local politics. It’s time to peel back the onion layers. Asking questions is the best way to do that. Mayor Yvonne Johnson, among others, will be hearing from me soon.

Mr. Information, I hope you’re up to the challenge. Show me the way.

The grass lives, goes to sleep, lives again,
and has no name for it.
The oaks and poplars know seasons while standing
to take what comes.
The grinding of the earth on its gnarled axis
touches many dumb brothers.
Time toils on translations of fire and rain into
air, into thin air.

In the casual drift of routine
in the day by day run of mine
in the play of careless circumstance
the anecdotes emerge
alive with people in words, errands,
motives and silhouettes
taller than the immediate moment:

“You have fourteen sons in the war?”
“Yes.”
“And you have more children at home?”
“Five.”
“And they all came on by one?”
“No, they was four pair of twins, two sets triplets.”

*********************

What a big wide world it is, eh? There’s always something just around the corner much greater, more mystifying, sadder, grander. I’ve been trying darn hard not to be disappointed with the this’s and that’s of life. Reading Carl Sandburg makes me less so.

I have the great disease of forgetting, and yet, I’m always looking into the future. What does this mean about my insides?

All wise and broad thinker, Carl Sandburg, will you visit me in my dreams and lead me through the fog?

Boy, we blew the rules right out of the water tonight.

Times are tight, and that’s that. I’ve always had money issues because I was worse than poor growing up.

We all bring our shit to the table when we get into a long-term relationship with someone. Survival in our world is directly tied to financial stability. I’m no Eustace Conway, after all.

Fuck. I just hate screaming at my husband.

He just got home to Greensboro, NC this morning; I’m really glad!

When he left, I remember thinking how protracted and drawn out the time would feel while he was gone. It of course has flown by.

It’s funny when someone you love and know really well is suddenly not in your life. It’s really like the last 6 months have happened on our own terms, separate of each other, and we’ll never really understand what it was like, what was going on with the other person. I suppose we can tell stories to each other.

Life goes on.

But, I’m still happy he’s back home.

I also got paid a lot more money to do that than what I’m doing now.

Now, I’m the Office Manager, but it’s really more like being the janitor, although I know I get paid more than the average person out there whose actual job title is indeed, well, janitor. I water the plants, sweep, mop, wash dishes, take out the trash & recycling.

My favorite part of this new job is shopping for office snacks. We don’t have a fancy-schmancy vending machine, so I get to buy what I like to call ‘surprise snacks’ for everyone at the office. No one ever knows what I’ll come back with…could be Moon Pies, could be roasted peanuts.

In any case, I signed up for this demotion to Office Manager by quitting my job as Client Services Director over a year ago, then going back and taking this new position. I have found a zen-like quality to it.

I’m really trying to get over “titles” and “labels”, especially when it pertains to my working life. Not to get all Native American and shit, but what if I could just be called, “person who pushes broom and washes things”?

Just a thought.