Shifting the Sun

Shifting the Sun

By Diana Der-Hovanessian

When your father dies, say the Irish,

you lose your umbrella against bad weather.

May his sun be your light, say the Armenians

When your father dies, say the Welsh,

you sink a foot deeper into the earth.

May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Canadians,

you run out of excuses.

May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the French,

you become your own father.

May you stand up in his light, say the Armenians.

When you father dies, say the Indians,

he comes back as the thunder.

May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Russians,

he takes your childhood with him.

May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the English,

you join his club you vowed you wouldn't.

May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Armenians,

your sun shifts forever.

And you walk in his light.

Barn Party

It had rained all day, it didn’t look as though it was going to stop. Yet the clouds lifted and I built a small bonfire, hoping that even if it didn’t stay nice out that I would at least get the scent of a fire in the air.

I threw a party in the family’s 100+ year old barn. The normally dark and quite structure filled up with life and cheer for a night. I doubt there has been anything like that in there since the raising of the barn itself.

I stood out on the damp grass and listened to the shouts and laughing emitting from the inside.

“It needs to be like this more often,” I thought to myself.

Back to Iowa

08/29/12

Setting: Zanzibar’s Coffee Adventure, a mildly safari themed hipster-y coffee bar in Des Moines.

Leaving Denver

Soundtrack: “Conatus” by Zola Jesus

I’m a week away from being back in Iowa for 1-month. I use the term “1-month” loosely since I have been all over the place since leaving Denver. I’ve visited friends in Madison, Wisconsin, moved my sister home from Chicago, and have been driving all over the state reminiscing. Have I made the right choice to move back? That is yet to be determined.

When I was in Denver the goal was to get to the end of my term of service, once that happened I could relax. Some how I forgot to factor in the stresses of moving home and searching for jobs in a rough economy and losing a little bit of independence by living at home again.

I’m currently house sitting for family and hoping for these next 10 days on my own to be a chance to regroup and focus on some self care and job searching. I’ve been lacking in self-care since I’ve been back. I was so used to going to House for All Sinners and Saints every Sunday in Denver. That gave me at least a time once a week to relax and calm myself. In Des Moines I have yet to attend any church, the search needs to begin in earnest. If any of my readers out there know of any good progressive churches in the area let me know!

Back in Iowa

I’m working on reacquainting myself with the city I was born in. I’ve been to the bars and to the local good eats. Fong’s Pizza will always be one of my favorites. I hit up El Bait Shop before walking over to Principal Park to catch an Iowa Cubs game. I was happy to discover that there is a little bit of pride when it comes to the minor league team here. Grab some drinks, cheer on the I-Cubs with 12,000 others and then head back to the Court Ave district to hang out.

I’m sitting in Zanzibar’s for the first time. A lovely little coffee shop but it’s lacking wifi. Which can be a good thing since now I am writing up this blog instead of sitting on Facebook. I could have been working on some applications though.

I’ve found a couple of interesting job prospects in the area but have either yet to hear back from them or have been turned down before the interview itself. So I’m broadening my range, sending in applications to jobs that would be great to have but not quite in the area I want to end up in.

I find myself often trying to picture what my Dad would say about this situation. I’m sure that he would be bringing home clippings of potential jobs for me daily and asking around to see what there is. It is hard to be in a house that has so much of him everywhere. His writing, his woodworking, his photos, in every corner of the house. I find myself making sure his things are okay, that his truck is still running and the tractor is okay. I have no idea how he managed to have a full time job and still have energy to putter around the farm like he did.

Catching an Iowa Cubs game

I miss Denver. As much as I was frustrated with my situation there I do miss the city and my job. There are lots of really good people there that I’m going to wish were closer so I could hang out with them. On mornings when I’m working on job applications I often let my mind wander to what I would be doing at work. Making coffee for clients and hanging out with all of them, getting to hear about their lives.

I will upload this blog when I get back into internet range. House sitting is already seeming to be a lonely endeavor but at least it motivates me to apply to more and more jobs.

So to my Denver friends, I miss you. Des Moines, I look forward to getting to know you more.

Odyssey

I left the Des Moines area 6 years ago for Cedar Falls, IA and the great school of Northern Iowa. When I left I was leaving a metro that I had by far failed to appreciate as a high school student whose idea of a fun time was popping over to Ankeny for a “Fast and the Furious” movie.

 I’ve matured. Thank God, I’ve matured. I enjoyed my time in Cedar Falls well enough. A pleasant college town with enough bars and college atmosphere to appease most students. Yet I was looking for more. A small town in Northeast Iowa was not going to be where I would end up living.

So I took the next reasonable step. A step any sane native central Iowan would take.  I moved to Las Cruces, New Mexico. Hot. Dry. A 30 minute drive to (Old) Mexico. I did my Americorps term of service there at a homeless shelter. I enjoyed the smell of roasting chili peppers and the beautiful culture of the area. If you ever want to find true hippies you should move to Las Cruces. The hipster pretention is gone because people really “haven’t heard of it yet” and that is the beauty of Las Cruces.

My term of service ran up and I was forced to move on to my next step. My next step ended up being a volunteer for another year, this time in Denver. I worked with injection drug users, junkies if you will. During this time I met some wonderful people. People like you an me, flawed but trying to find their way in this world. I would do street outreach with a backpack of condoms and safe shooting supplies and when I saw a groups of people under bridges I would go up to them and say hi. And you know what? They were all lovely!

So now I reach the present, the modern day, the current reality. I can’t milk the volunteering cow anymore. It is time to go forth and make reasonable amounts of money and live in a location for more than a year.

So where shall I head?

Des Moines. Yes, Des Moines.

Because in these last few years I have discovered and learned so much, yet Des Moines has always been in my heart.

A flourishing downtown, a great art scene, and a great economy; what’s not to love for a guy entering his mid-20’s?

Yes, Denver is beautiful, that Rocky Mountain view is breathtaking but the humble elegant beauty of Grey’s Lake or the East Village in Des Moines is my love.

Yes, Las Cruces has a beautiful, vibrant culture. But the honest and kind people of Iowa are what do it for me.. Des Moines is blossoming with a culture of its own and I cannot wait to be part of that, nor would I risk missing it.

So I am soon to return from my 6 year exodus from “The DSM”. I have loved my experiences out west. I have learned a lot about myself and about how I view the world. I have learned that Des Moines is where I want to be able to approach that beautiful skyline and say, “I’m home”.

I’m coming home, Des Moines. See you soon. 

(All photos are taken by the blogger)

Robbed

So many words, left unwritten
So many deeds, left undone,
So many memories, never to be made
God, you have robbed us
A great man is gone
My father is gone
Please tell me why.

Eulogy

I will update my blog soon hopefully but for now I will attach below a written copy of the eulogy I gave at my father's funeral on April 23rd. I have actually been writing more than I ever have before yet at the moment it is in a private journaling manner, which was inspired by finding one of my dad's old journals.
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Eulogy:

Thank you all so much for being here. When I started thinking about giving a speech today I was unsure if I could do it. We’re all just in so much shock at loosing such a healthy man who was so full of life. So why am I speaking today? Well, aside from wanting to show my love and deep respect for my father I also picture him looking down thinking “I paid for four years of college for your Communication degree, you better be giving a speech at my funeral”

Also, they say that more people are afraid of public speaking than of death. I disagree, but when you combine the two it can be a little terrifying.

My family and I are all so grateful that we were all able to be there for him and share our love with him. I flew home from Denver on Easter and that night my dad fought for the energy he had left to pull down his oxygen mask and whisper “I love you”. I’ve always known this, he’s always known I love him, but for us to be able to say that to each other was truly a gift. A gift even more so for the fact that the very next day he was no longer able to communicate with us through speech.

Dad was such a strong man and never wanted anyone to worry about him. I know when he started getting chemo he tried to inform me with a tweet. It’s classic Dad, wanting to downplay the situation as much as possible by using 140 characters and saying it’s no big deal.

The night before he passed that strength remained. As he lay in the ICU, machines beeping and the situation grim, us getting ready to transfer him to hospice, my mom asked him if he was scared, he slowly shook his head “No” The next morning, as the rain fell and the crisp air filled his room in hospice he quietly passed away. Even in the end he never wanted us to worry.

Lessons:

1)Enjoy the small things

        Dad was a hard worker. On the weekends he always had multiple projects going on in his workshop and out on the farm. Yet he always took the time to stop and enjoy the small things. He had books in his truck so he could look up the various plants and birds he saw while he was outside working. We would always stop and enjoy a mountain dew at 3pm on the weekends and if it was a Sunday we would sometimes sit in his truck and listen to “The News from Lake Woebegone”.

                   

2)Share and pass on your passions

        Dad would always show us his new projects he was working on. I know that when we were little he would encourage us with his hobbies. I know with me I was probably only 7 when he placed a camera in my hand.

        He used his woodworking skills to make all of us little toys and we absolutely adored them. We not only adored them but we reciprocated. For Christmas when I was little I gave him a Merry X-mas sign I had hand carved with a chisel. It originally was going to be “Merry Christmas” but I soon found out that Christmas is a very long word. Quinn learned wood burning from him to write messages to day in scraps of wood. Hollis drew a picture of a sheep on a piece of week and used wood shavings for the wool.

3) Never stop learning

        I’ve already mentioned his books that he keeps in his pickup so he can identify and learn the birds and plants he encountered. Learning was a key part of Dad’s identity. I’ve never met another person who had such a wide extent of reading materials at one time. It wouldn’t be uncommon for him to have a book on woodworking, a manual for his John Deere, and a biography on Crazy Horse sitting by his chair downstairs.

Not only did he teach us to keep learning but he showed us how wonderful it is to have varied interests. When he passed I looked for little activities to do to sit and think about him. I discovered that I already do read a lot and write a lot and listen to “Car Talk”. Dad is so much a part of me, a part of all of my family, that we have already been doing the things that dad loves, because he was a cool guy and liked cool stuff.

Legacy:

He lives on through his writing. He has left such a legacy to us all. It is clear from the support we have and continue to receive that he made a large impact on everyone. It is beautiful to see his coworkers and the journalism community here and wonderful to hear stories about Dad in his work environment.  I know my siblings and I could not have asked for a better Dad and thank him so much for all he has taught us.

I’ll miss you Dad, I love you. We all love you so much. And please excuse any grammatical errors I may have made in this speech, my usual editor, Jim Pollock, was out of the office and unable to get me a corrected version in time.

I’ll end with a quick quote that I love from Dad that summed up his thoughts on his life in journalism, ““It’s a big, bizarre world, but at least you get to watch from close up.”

On the Road

"...can you give me a ride to the bus stop?"

"...um...yeah, okay, let's go", I replied tiredly.

It was Friday and I had just gotten off of work and stopped at the grocery store to buy a frozen pizza. On my way out of the store I bumped into one of my homeless clients. We chatted for a while and then he asked the question:

"As an off duty social worker can you give me a ride to the bus stop?"

I was tired, it had been a long day, but I said okay.

We climb into my car and I start driving.

"Where are we heading to?", I ask.

"Just drive that way and we'll hit it".

So we start chatting and in between conversation we listen to an old Black Keys album I checked out from the library. I checked it out the day after my friends and I purchased tickets to see the Black Keys play in Denver in May.

"Yeah man, this is some real smooth stuff, I dig it." he said.

This post is brought to you by "The Black Keys"

I've always liked this client. He says great things like "you're a cool cat", "that's real smooth brotha". If I were to briefly describe him I would say he's a middle aged man who is a "real cool cat".



He's loving the Black Keys so we just sit quietly and listen.

"Where are we going to?", I say, breaking the silence.

"Just keep going this way, we'll get there"

I'm starting to get annoyed that I'm just driving him to his destination and not to the bus stop.

Commence "The Black Keys" bluesy guitar jam.

The client begins rapping along to the beat.

"This track is real sweet, this ain't no repeat, I'm digging to the sounds of this fat beat..."

That quote is a paraphrase, I don't remember exactly what he rapped, but you get the just. He went on for over a minute, rapping out amazing lyrics and perfectly synced to a song he'd never heard before. This guy wasn't just good, he was great. He sounded like how I wish I sounded when I start rapping in my car by myself.

"That was awesome!" - I said in disbelief when he finished

"Man I loved that song, I love jamming out. These guys are some pretty cool cats."

I asked him if he does that a lot, freestyle rap and such, and he said yes, and that he also writes poems.

"Would you like to hear one?"

"Absolutely!"

He recited an original poem off the top of his head. It was a beautiful poem about the different paths we all take but how they all share the common denominator of one thing, love.

"Wow, you blew my mind again! When did you write that?"

He said he wrote it while he was in solitary confinement in prison. Lots of time to think and create poetry in his head.

He said he doesn't fly signs but he does occasionally ask for money and wants to have something to give in return. A poem for your change. A 21st century troubadour.


We finally reached his stop, which turns out was only a few blocks from where I was going anyway.

"You can drop me off right here", he says as I pull over, "Thank you man, you're like my little brother, I love ya man..." and then I got the top honor, "...you're a real cool cat."

Needless to say that experience made my day. What started out as a nuisance, as work after getting off of work, became the highlight of my week.

My friend Kipp and I always talk about trying to have the type of stories that author and Denver frequenter Jack Kerouac had. Inspiring and fascinating moments with people. Here I was driving down Larimer, a road that Kerouac talks about in "On the Road", having an experience that I felt could be taken right out of the pages of one of his books.  I felt like the main character of "On the Road", Sal Paradise, as I had this great experience with someone who others don't even acknowledge.

I called Kipp when I got home and told him my story. He was as blown away as I was.

"Nice job Sal Paradise" he said.

HRAC News Coverage

Channel 9 News in Denver recently did a story on the Harm Reduction Action Center, my work place. They interviewed our director and gave a brief description of what the HRAC does. Check out the video! And add some nice comments!

To view the video click here.

Also, check out the article on us in Denver's Westword weekly magazine.

Click here for the Westword article

The Harm Reduction Action Center's new location

Go Baseball!!!

It's that time of year again.

The time of year where I decided that I am going to get into major league baseball. I’m going to regularly watch games and keep track.

This is usually over by spring training but it happens every year.

But probably not.

For the last couple of years I’ve decided that I’m going to become a Milwaukee Brewers fan. I’ve been to their ballpark, saw them play, I liked their style.

While I’m good for a couple of games I can’t fight down the realization that these guys are the rivals of the Chicago Cubs, my former team that I buried and claimed to never have loved. The undead zombie Cubs continue speaking at me underneath the floor boards, “you know this is the year right?”

I cave, the Cubs win me back. I trade in Braun, the Brew Crew, and Miller Park and pick up my tired fandom of the Cubs again with the losses, the curse, and an aging crumbling ballpark.

Yes, I said Wrigley Field is a crumbling ballpark, because it is. I know there is glamour and glory behind it all somewhere but I can’t look past the fact that it honestly is in terrible shape. (If there is ever a time where a stranger will comment on one of my blog posts, this is it)

Coors Field

This year I plan to stay with the Cubs, as my NL team. Since I have a terrible time following one team I have it in my head that I also need an AL team and what more perfect team than the local talent, the Colorado Rockies?

So instead of one disappointing team this year I will have two.

Perhaps it would be easier rooting for teams that are exciting and win games but that would be defecting from my teams that I'm only half enthused about. I'm a better fan than that.

Apart from saying I'll follow baseball, and then not doing it, I have one more tradition that is even more consistant. The yearly tradition of informing my brother that the New York Yankees are evil and that I can't believe he roots for them. They are evil, bro, just find a new team.

Go Cubs, go! Hoist the white flag at Wrigley!!! This is the yea….is it football season yet?

Billie Holiday

“You have to have a little love in your life and some food in your stomach before you can sit still and listen to some damn fool’s lecture about how to behave.” 

                                                                                 –Billie Holiday

This is the quote that we have been using at the Harm Reduction Action Center's syringe access trainings. Things shouldn't be black and white when it comes to treatment and services for people with drug abuse, there is so much grey area. Much of life happens in the grey area so let's help people at least be safe about what they choose to do and give them some love in their life and food in their stomach as Billie says.

Border Re-immersion

Writers block. That’s what I’m blaming my blog hiatus on. Now this isn’t saying that the drought is over, it’s saying that I am sitting here with a cup of coffee and my entire iTunes library on shuffle (so far: Bon Iver followed by Neil Young followed by Miles Davis) and I’m feeling ambitious.

(Intermission as I realize my coffee is gone and I leave to go brew another cup)

I’ve been struggling this week, there simply has been too much on my mind and too much going on and not enough introverted recharge time watching 30 Rock or pretending to learn how to play a guitar.

Let’s cover the most recent event of worth talking about.

Last weekend the Urban Servant Corps took it’s annual border immersion trip to Las Cruces, NM/ El Paso, TX. Now if you’ve been following this blog you’ll know that this area holds a special place in my heart. I did live there for a year after all.

The USC crew in El Paso

I just never realized how special of a place it held in my heart.

It felt incredible to be back but was also bittersweet. Seeing old friends, coworkers, and areas that I’ve spent time in all in a blur of a couple days left me in an emotionally drained state, in a good way, for this past week.

The border is an incredibly unique place and I had basically forgotten it. I had moved onto the next thing and neglected to give it much thought any more. But being back reopened my eyes to how incredible and sometimes heartbreaking it can be. The culture is nowhere else to be found and the stories and struggles of immigrants hoping to find better lives only to find resistance from our country is frustrating.

My visit to my old work site was not what I had hoped for. While seeing coworkers again was wonderful I only saw a few clients and they were only as excited as kids getting socks on Christmas to see me. I realized that I had applied my current work environment to my old one. My job last year didn’t allow for many personal connections with homeless clients, it discouraged it. This year at HRAC I have formed friendships and know the name of almost everyone that walks through our door.

Don’t get me started on the 24 hours that we spent on a Greyhound bus over the course of the weekend, a time that was about equal to the amount of time we spent awake on the border. Ridiculous.

I didn’t tear up when I moved away from Las Cruces in August but I did when I was waiting to get on the Greyhound to be taken out of view of the Organ Mountains once again.

Goodbye Organ Mountains. Until we meet again.

Syringe Exchange for change...

...is a line I just coined but it is appropriate for this post.

In a matter of weeks my work place, The Harm Reduction Action Center, will become one of Denver's first syringe access programs.

Why do we want to give clean needles to junkies? Are we encouraging their behavior? Nope! We are encouraging them living healthier lifestyles even if it means still using drugs but shooting up with clean needles. Injection drug users are at enough risk already for violence and hatefulness from their communities, they don't want to have to worry about Hep C or HIV from a dirty needle.

Back to the Border

I'm returning to the border soon.

I'm going down on a border immersion trip with USC. To learn about the place that I called home for a year.

It will be nice to see the Organ mountains of Las Cruces again, to see friends who stayed down in Cruces and El Paso.

But it will be different.

It will be a weird feeling to be in my old house as a guest and to see all the new faces in Border Servant Corps.

I am excited.

Yet a tad bit nervous as well.

See you soon borderlands!

A church I can actually call home...

...and not only stomach but actually enjoy.

Growing up I had a very frightening view of religion, more specifically Christianity. I had been dragged along occasionally to a small church not too far from my middle school. The pastor was a good old fire and brimstone man. I remember him red faced and dripped sweat as he talked about hell but this could be an exaggeration of my memory. I do remember him telling us that to believe in good luck was sinful, so when I got home I threw out my lucky crow's feather. It was seeming a little devilish anyway, a crow as opposed to a dove feather.

I dabbled in and out of different church activities after that. I did a Christmas play so I could talk to and get the pastor's cute granddaughter, who was a year older than me, to notice me. No luck there.

I did AWANA with some friends for a couple weeks. It was a sort of boy scouts for Baptists. I only received one badge and I'm pretty sure it was the one for showing up for the first time.

That's about it when it comes to church before college, though that good ol' fashioned fear of God was infused in me. (I was a good kid, I said "gosh" instead of "god"; very important stuff)

In college I made a couple attempts at going to a big church in Cedar Falls. A big church because I could easily sneak in and out without being noticed and nobody ever knew if I missed a Sunday or two (or all but a few Sundays)

But I was frustrated. It seemed very fake to me. If a mainstream conservative church is what Christianity is then I don't want any part in it. No offense to anyone, it works for some people, just not me.

Soundtrack for this post: "The Age of Adz" by Sufjan Stevens

Book I recently finished: The Hunger Games Trilogy

Food last eaten: an old candy cane