Email: Allison McCullough

Dear Friends and Family,

The responses I received after my first letter home were uplifting and exciting. I am so glad that many of you enjoyed reading about life here and have been in conversation with me. Here in Los Angeles I have found that life revolves around several key things, regardless of where you are located. One of these is food. Meals and eating are a central part of our lives. Much of our family, community, and national culture revolves around what and how we eat. On Gregory Avenue, some things are different from any place I have ever lived.

My second Saturday morning here I was awakened by someone yelling in our back alley, well before 9:00 a.m. I live very close to my neighbors, so noise in the morning was not a surprise. In those first few days, I became accustomed to sharing other people’s laughter, fights, temper tantrums, music of every genre, and conversations. This neighborhood is the most densely packed area in which I have ever resided. People live closer and more intimately than in my freshmen dorm. Families of four to six often inhabit a single bedroom apartment, with as many as 20 families sharing a tiny courtyard. In turn, these courtyards become community centers where children play, birthday celebrations occur, and older kids congregate on weekends, participating in a range of activities, some good, some not so good. After living here a week, yelling on a Saturday morning came as no surprise to me. However, as I listened carefully I realized that the man in the back alley was yelling the same thing over and over again. My first thought was, “great there is a crazy man hanging out behind the house now.” After a few minutes I realized that he was saying “Tamales….Tamales.” A tamale is steamed corn dough (called “masa”) with or without other fillings. Tamales can be filled with meats, cheese, and sliced chilis or any preparation according to taste. The tamale is wrapped in a corn husk or plaintain leaves before cooking. I wish there were some way to incorporate sound of this man's voice into this letter, so you could hear the way this man yells at the top of his lungs. It is with almost the same excitement and intonation of a futbol announcer screaming, “GOOOOAL!” during a tournament game. From my home this year I can stroll outside in pajamas on a Saturday morning and buy tamales right out of the alley.

In fact, food comes by many modes of transportation right to our driveway. There is, of course, an ice cream truck blasting the tune of “It’s A Small World” up and down the street. This has added significance when one is living alongside neighbors from Guatemala, Mexico, El Salvador, Turkey, Southeast Asia, and numerous other regions of South and Central America. There are also several ice cream carts that have simple bells announcing their presence. I feel like every time I leave the house for a late afternoon run I turn down ice cream more than once before I even get off my street. However, the ice cream vendors are persistent and still offer despite my frequent rejection of their products.

If you don’t have a sweet tooth there are still trucks for you. Several times each afternoon and evening the tune of “La Cucaracha” announces the arrival of Carlos, the vegetable man. To call Carlos a simple “vegetable man” is a gross understatement. From the back of his truck you can acquire almost anything: from school supplies and party sparklers to Flaming Hot Cheetos and jalapeno peppers. According to my neighbors, there is also a meat truck, but I have yet to see this one. I am accustomed to buying meat and produce from the grocery store, but it is nice to know it is available at the end of our driveway too.

In this neighborhood, much of community life takes place in driveways, sidewalks, tiny courtyards, and even on the streets. It is a blessing for my roommates and me that our home, front yard, and driveway are common spaces where children and families from our neighborhood can gather. At the end of the day when I am tired from working at PATH and feel that I have nothing left to give, the little ones from this community fill me up with joy. They teach me how to draw pictures with markers and sidewalk chalk. They teach me to jump rope and play tag. They teach me to shoot baskets and kick soccer balls. I am so blessed to often have the perspective of a child at the end of the day.

My roommates and I are learning how to serve and be served by our neighbors. One of our greatest joys is celebrating the birthdays of children who live nearby. We have so many little ones in this neighborhood that we attend at least two birthday celebrations a month where we are warmly welcomed. Taking time to just be with our neighbors is one of the greatest joys of living here. To that end, I challenge you to step outside of your comfort zone and create new forms of community sometime soon. Email me about some of your experiences. I look forward to hearing what you are doing wherever you are. In my next letter home I will be sharing about the part of each week I spend working at PATH. To learn more about PATH (People Assisting the Homeless) visit Path’s Web site.

I have found a wonderful and nurturing community of co-workers there and I can’t wait to share them with you.

With Love and Peace

Alison McCullough