Camptastic

Rain threatened and briefly downpoured, but ultimately cleared up and it was a perfect fall night of camping in Southern Illinois for my college roommate's bachelorette party.

This has nothing to do with Americorps or Ohio Benefit Bank, but it was a much-needed break.

The bride-to-be (pictured above) and three other girls (plus one token guy, the boyfriend of one of the girls, who lived at the state park where we stayed) had a fun, but all-too-short getaway of faux-roughing it over grilled chicken, reminiscing, birdwatching, frogcatching, campfire, s'mores and squeezing inside a just-barely-big-enough tent (I slept great).

I say faux because we stayed near a research trailer, which was superghetto, but still offered running water and a toilet.

Besides the wasted chunk of gorgeous Sunday trapped in a car driving back home for work on Monday morning, it was a good weekend. Nice to get out of town.

The leaf above, by the way, was hung up on a single silken strand of spider's web so it was suspended in a falling position. It was beautiful and what I was looking at while the others -- research biologists all -- were peering through giant binoculars, discussing birds.

All-in-all, for driving seven hours one way just to sleep on the ground and drive back, it wasn't bad. Wasn't bad at all.

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in where nature may heal and cheer and give strength to the body and soul. ...Keep close to Nature’s heart...and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods.

Wash your spirit clean."

-John Muir

Busy Busy

VISTAs are not allowed to work outside of their Americorps duties -- not even sell artwork or play a paid gig with a band. A college class MIGHT be allowed, but must be approved and related to the Americorps job duties.

These rules were repeated over and over as we prepared to become VISTAs and I was taken aback at first. They seemed overstrict and legalistic. Seriously?, I thought. As long as you do your job, why should they care what you do during your off time?

Now, however, I'm starting to undertstand.

Poverty isn't a 9-5 gig. Getting burnt out could be pretty easy and even easier if you were also juggling a second job. And, make no mistake, this is a job. Even though my paychecks say I'm basically a glorified volunteer, as you can see above, my days are PACKED. I think I've driven more miles in the past three weeks than I did in the last three years. (I used to bike everywhere.)

Any project is obviously benefited by having a person who can offer it undivided attention. I find myself thinking about Ohio Benefit Bank, hunger, poverty, potential OBB sites, and strategies for improving people's lives and connecting more people to resources ALL the time.

Before I left my last job, I had a friend who wondered why I couldn't just find a food pantry and volunteer on weekends now and then if I felt the urge to serve. He, like many others, was confused why I would quit a good job, take a huge paycut and move cross country just to serve others. Especially because it's only for a year.

I don't know.

Maybe it's extreme, but there are some things that can't be done halfway. This, for me, was one of them. I can't explain why exactly, but I needed to go all in or I wasn't going to be satisfied with myself. I needed to challenge myself, leave it all on the field. Sometimes that means I have to take the long way.

In these uncertain economic times, it was certainly tempting to stay with a good job in a city I'd grown to love, but I couldn't stomach taking the comfortable route of staying put and dabbling in service, patting myself on the back for making a difference while holding back my all.

And that's absolutely no disrespect for weekend volunteers and others throughout communities who do what they can and who are absolutely invaluable resources. But I felt like I was being called to do more, and I was in a position where I could. So I did.

And now I'm off for a weekend of camping. Wish me clear roads and dry skies...

BTW, I meant this to be a short, quick post, but it swelled into some kind of serious, existential missive. And I don't even feel like I'm really articulating myself, but I feel a little brain dead right now. TGIF.

Prison, then religion

PART ONE: TOLEDO CORRECTIONAL CAMP SOCIAL SERVICES FAIR

Today, Brie and I went to prison.

To talk to the inmates about Ohio Benefit Bank, that is. (Sorry, I know that was lame...)

I was actually supposed to be conducting my first training (in Fremont) today, but it got canceled, due to no one signing up. (Actually, I guess people DID sign up and then showed up and no one was there, but there was some kind of mix-up so I feel bad about...still working on getting to the bottom of that one...) But I'm glad it didn't happen. Not only because I'm nervous for my boss's critique, but because today's social service fair was really interesting.

I found the facility easy enough (shocking!) but wasn't quite sure what to do once I got there. There were lots of cars, lots of fences, lots of gates, lots of that curly razor-wire topper stuff -- but no people in sight.

I finally just walked up to the main gate to see what might happen. There was a button, so I pushed it. Nothing happened, but just as I was about to walk away, the gate clicked and unlocked.

Inside, through another door, security was strict but not too bad, nothing worse than an airport. (It was the minimum security part of the prison.) I didn't even have to remove my shoes.

The only oh-yeah-I'm-in-prison moments were that I was told to keep my keys and ID on my person at all times (not with my belongings) and of course the fair "visitors" were all clad in identical tan jumpsuits with DRC INMATE blazened on the back and had to be head-checked over lunch. Other than that, pretty basic. No purses or cell phones allowed. Sign-in sheet, bag search, metal detector, visitor's badge, and a few jokes from the check-in guards about visitor stripsearching starting soon in a failed attempt to freak me out.

The actual event was pretty enjoyable actually. Most of the inmates I talked to were engaged and interested and asked lots of very direct questions -- which was actually a nice change from the disinterested and/or pretending to be disinterested folks I've sometimes encountered at other fairs -- those who just palm a flyer and walk off, careful not to make eye contact. For the most part, they were also extremely polite, appreciative -- and pretty funny to boot. A captive audience, literally.

Although sometimes I felt like the question-askers probably knew more than me about government programs, the pressure was off a little because they can't apply for benefits yet while still in prison anyway. It was more like future reference info. Or info to pass on to family on the outside who might need assistance.

The fact that there are now people trained as OBB counselors in every Ohio prison is awesome. It meant many of the inmates were familiar with OBB already, and also they have someone in-house that already knows their situation, can answer any questions that come up later, and help them fill out applications right there. Brilliant!

My fellow VISTA didn't actually show up until after lunch. I had talked to her that morning at 830 am and she was slightly lost but almost there. So I kept expecting her at any moment. But, inside, past security and stripped of my phone, as it got to be past 10 am and no way to hear from her, I started hoping nothing had happened to her.

It turned out she'd gotten so hopelessly lost and finally gave up in frustration. She made it to the second half of the day though, which was nice because my voice was getting ragged from yelling to be heard over the din of a loud, echoey room. Plus it gave me a chance to help one of the inmates about to be released fill out his food stamps application. He can't e-submit it since he's still in prison, but he will have it printed out and ready to drop off at JFS when he walks out the prison doors Monday.

It was my first food stamp application, but he was patient. ("No worries -- I've got nothing BUT time," he said.) It was also pretty easy to set up a mutual good time to meet :)

PART TWO: INTERFAITH HUNGER AWARENESS SERVICE

Later that evening, I showed up at Our Lady of Lourdes Church in West Toledo for the fourth annual Interfaith Hunger Awareness Service, put on by my site, the Toledo Northwestern Ohio Food Bank.

It was cool to see representatives from all of Toledo's various faiths in one place for a common goal, the mission of allievating hunger in the city. There were speakers and performers representing Our Lady of Lourdes (Catholic), Bethlehem Baptist, B'nai Israel (Jewish), the Islam community, the Hindu temple and the Toledo Zen Center (Buddhist).

There is a movement spearheaded by a multifaith group to have every church, mosque, temple -- every "faith space" -- in Toledo have a garden that it can use in its food pantry or for its parishiners or others in the area to provide both much-needed fresh and supplemental food as well as promote environmental stewardship.

Hear, hear!

Guerrilla Marketing

I'm not sure where September has gone, but I'm finally starting to feel like I'm getting a better handle on how everything works and how all the pieces fit together. I'm getting a better grasp on the programs and material. I'm not getting lost around the city as often.

I helped work a booth last week at Take a Loved One to the Doctor Day, a health fair in Toledo, which was my first real event interacting with the public and putting my knowledge and OBB schpeel into practice.

There weren't many people there, but, with the help of my uberknowledgable VISTA leader, I was able to talk with several agencies that seemed really excited that something like OBB existed and interested in the possibility of becoming new sites. Yay!

I've also been having fun with guerrilla marketing.

Everywhere I go, I think about whether someone there could use Ohio Benefit Bank info. I've started noticing all the places where people might see a flyer, including bar bathrooms. Why not? So far I haven't had anything with me in bathrooms, but I try to tack a flyer on every bulletin board I see or discreetly drop one on the newspaper rack or a window sill every time I go inside a gas station.

A guy in a gas station parking lot who asked me for $2 got the $2 along with a "Feel Like You're Drowning?" OBB brochure. I thought he might be annoyed but he seemed interested, so that was cool. His good reaction buoyed my spirits!

However, I still make tons of mistakes. As soon as I start feeling more confident, I do something stupid and get deflated again. But I'm trying to shake it off and press on. I am by no means feeling completely confident, but I'm cautiously optimistic that day will come.

Overwhelmed

I was warned there would come a day when I would feel like quitting, but I didn't really believe it would happen.

That day for me was last Wednesday.

Emails were coming from all directions and I was jostling reminders jotted on half a dozen scraps of paper. I wasn't sure how to respond to some of the emails, but when I skipped one, I was paranoid I was going to lose it in the shuffle. Was it something I needed to add to a spreadsheet? Which one? What information did the spreadsheet ask for? Did anyone need to be emailed first? Or after? Who? Or was it something I'm supposed to forward on to someone else?

Ahh!

Already feeling frazzled, I set out to meet with my first client, a person wanting to fill out a HEAP application for help with paying heating costs.

Yes, the software is the expert and, yes, I was "trained" in what amounted to a crash course in public benefits, but people still expect you to explain how things work. And their mothers come along and tell you they are raising three grandkids whose father is in prison. And they missed a PIPP payment and want to make sure their utilities don't get shut off. And they haven't been to the doctor in years because they don't have medical coverage but they really want to go and what are their options?

When faced with a messy, real-life situation, the hypothetical, straight-forward practice scenarios flew out the window and my mind was both blank and reeling.

These were REAL problems and people were looking to me to help them. I felt completely inadequate and ill-equipped. Who was I to help them navigate a system I barely understand myself yet? Three weeks ago I had barely heard of any of these programs.

Social services folks and those who have been working with the programs for years seem to have forgotten how overwhelming everything seems at first. Learning about the benefits PLUS the dozens of county agencies PLUS the software PLUS how to teach the software PLUS the spreadsheet system PLUS the regular stresses of navigating a new workplace, new coworkers and a new city.

PHEW!

I had to remind myself yet again to take a deep breath. Slow down. Think. Relax. No need to reinvent the wheel, think it all through myself and shoulder full responsibility for these problems. Let the software do it's job. Ask questions. Don't be afraid to get back to them. No need to rush.

Baby steps.

Learning Curve

This job started slow, but is now shifting into warp speed.

The first two days seemed to drag. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do and no one really told me. (Not that I really COULD do anything with no training.)

My supervisor appears to be pretty hands-off, which I knew would appreciate later, but I could have used some guidance at first because I felt like a waste of space, browsing the Internet all day, trying to find things to do to stay busy.

There's nothing more frustrating than the feeling of wanting to dive in and do something -- but having to hold back because of not knowing enough yet to really do anything. It also didn't help that I had to drive 2.5 hours to Columbus and stay several days about four times in those first three weeks for some variation of training/meeting/conference.

But looking back, it was good to have that down time to get acclimated, run through Benefit Bank practice scenerios and continue researching all the programs and agencies in Toledo -- because there are a TON.

The learning curve is steep.

I'm someone whose mind has wondered and eyes glazed over at words like Medicare and subsidies. Now I'm diving into the specifics of food stamps, health care plans and federal income guidelines and trying to keep it all straight. I'm also learning a new software program as well as how to teach a day-long class on it (as if I'm some kind of expert having learned it myself just weeks earlier). Then there's the vast network of city agencies and what they do. Add to that an insane array of spreadsheets and organizational processes and a wobbly grasp on the system of using them, makes me not sure where to start.

And that's all aside from getting lost around a new city and the usual stresses of the first day of work in a new setting -- learning names and job descriptions, where you can park and the way to the bathroom.

Whew. My head hurts.

PSO

After a quick dash to the west coast to visit my sister (that's her above at the LA Zoo) and 16-hour blur of roads (12, 22/15, 212, 494, 94, 90, 290, 294, 80/94, 65 ... ahh!) where I felt like that dude from Fight Club whose mind is numbed by the barrage of identical airports, I arrived in Indianapolis for PSO.

Pre-service orientation, better known as PSO, was the first of many bureaucratic acronyms I would come to be famliar with over the next few weeks.

While our training couldn't be site-specific due to the vast variety of job descriptions, it was cool to meet and make connections with soon-to-be VISTAs soon to be serving all across the Midwest.

Mainly PSO was an overview of poverty in America as well as tips on inserting yourself effectively into a new community. We were broken into smaller classrooms by region for most of the week. Everyone in my group was going to serve in Ohio. Some of the info was basic and obvious but it was rarely boring thanks to lots of interactive group activities, which made it as interesting as it could have been.

Also cool and very unexpected was the fact that my group leader turned out to be a South Dakotan hailing from a small town near where I worked and also a South Dakota State journalism graduate familiar with the paper I worked for! What a small world.

With people from vastly different ages and backgrounds -- a single mother with a drug-addicted sister and a recent college grad from an affluent suberb, just to name two -- there were lots of varied viewpoints, which made for interesting discussion.

One of the most eye-opening statistics presented was one related to the difference between situational poverty (those who've lost their jobs or gotten swamped by medical bills) vs. generational poverty (those whose families have been in poverty for two or more generations). SEVENTY-FIVE percent of Americans in poverty are in generational poverty. Wow. That sparked one of the most thought-provoking discussions of the week: Whether urban or rural poverty is more pervasive.

My group seemed to be pretty well-read and so I also got some good book recommendations, including The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, a memoir about growing up in extreme poverty in West Virginia.

Highlights of our free evenings included a hole-in-the-wall jazz bar where I talked to new friends for hours and my first NFL (preseason) game -- for $10 scalped tickets in the Colts' gorgeous new stadium that was literally steps from my hotel. (In the photo below, the column on the left side is my hotel.)





Sidenote: A neatly dressed but clearly down-and-out older woman approached me in the press of the football game crowd asking for money, saying she was hungry. Reflexively I brushed her off, but after she walked away, I stopped short. How ironic. How was I supposed to callously say no after an entire day of talking about hunger and poverty in the abstract and here it was right in the flesh? (Maybe it was a test from Americorps? Kidding.) When I tracked her down and handed her $5, she hugged me. I did contemplate pointing her in the direction of the convention center where all the bleeding heart soon-to-be VISTAs fresh off a day of poverty simulations would have been a great source of income ;)

We VISTAs, on the other hand, stayed in posh hotels and were fed ridiculous amounts of extravagent food. (I thought the government was broke?) But joking aside, it was an inspiring pep talk for the trenches we would all be entering bright and early the very next Monday.

On the last day, we took a pledge (which the always-enlightening Glenn Beck mocked earlier this year:

And, just like that, we were VISTAs.

Taking the Plunge

When I started applying to Americorps programs this spring, I had been rolling the idea around for the past several years.

During college, I contemplated applying for the Peace Corps, but instead applied for Teach for America, a two-year stint teaching in some of the poorest school districts in the nation. In the end, I didn't make the cut, but it probably worked out for the best. Although I am still passionate about issue of school equality and support the great work of Teach for America, I'm not sure I would have made the best teacher in that situtation.

Either way, I ended up being offered a job at a newspaper in South Dakota, which I loved and which allowed me to learn tons while actually using my degree, pay off my car, save up some money and satisfy my restless wanderer streak by moving randomly across the country to start a life on my own.

One year there turned into three, but then the itch to serve started to pop into my head and that's when I started looking into Americorps again. I was focused mainly on jobs in the Toledo/Detroit area because I wanted to get back closer to home.

I had my first interview for an Americorps position in April, but everything stated happening really fast in July. After months of no contact after my initial interview, my site called and said the job was mine if I wanted it, but I had to let them know by tomorrow! After a sleepless night of indecision, I called the next day to accept, only to be told "Great! Here's a lot of paperwork and we need it filled out and faxed by noon tomorrow!"

Ahh!

But all was well.

I quit my job, gave away most of my stuff, said tearful farwells, packed my car with everything I own, headed down the highway, and that was that.

What I Do

Eliminate poverty.

That's my mission this year.

It's the mission statement of the Americorps VISTA program and I love it. So succinct -- and yet so daunting, nay, impossible. But I'm an idealist by nature so I think there's nothing wrong with forging ahead, throwing my back and heart into worthy projects with the certainty that, surely, if I work hard enough, care hard enough, think positively enough, things will work out in the end.

But, since I'm also a procrastinator by nature, this blog has some catching up to do.



Last month, I made the 1,000-mile trek to Toledo, Ohio, for a year-long stint as an Americorps VISTA member, which is basically a fulltime volunteer. It's like the Peace Corps except I stay here in the United States. (God. I typed U.S. at first and tried to leave it alone, but had to go back and make it United States on first reference because I just can't shake the AP stylebook. That's like the Bible for journalists.)

Anyway.

I do get paid, but only a stipend and it's deliberately at the poverty level, which works out to a little more than $10,000 a year.

I'm working for the Ohio Association of Second Harvest Foodbanks, part of the organization known nationally as Feeding America.

My job is a community trainer for the Ohio Benefit Bank. I'm based out of the Toledo Northwestern Ohio Food Bank in Toledo, but cover an eight-county region in Northwest Ohio.

Whew.

The Ohio Benefit Bank is a free, Web-based software program (much like Turbo Tax in format and ease of use) that lets low-income Ohians sit down with a counselor and apply for public assistance programs, such as food stamps, child care subsidies, home heating costs and more.

My job involves "capacity building" for Ohio Benefit Bank -- spreading the word about the program; locating, recruiting and setting up new OBB sites; and teaching new counselors how to run the program.

I swing -- sometimes hourly -- between excitement at having an entire year to focus on the possibilities this program has for improving people's lives and feeling overwhelmed at how little time a year actually is for learning everything I need to know and then putting it into effect.

At times like those, I just have to remind myself to take a deep breath. Slow down. Do one thing at a time. One step at a time. And just trust that it WILL make a difference.