2017.04.09 Palm Sunday
Meeting in a West Adams spacious apartment - filled with light - minimal decor - to discuss registering voters in California District 25 for the 2018 election.
There was a hook in an archway between the living-room and kitchen in the shape of a beckoning finger.
It was morning, but our host put cookies out, and tangerines, and store-bought iced-tea, and sliced lemons for the tea.
We sat in a circle around the coffee-table, which she had cleared. At one point, she opened one of the coffee-table drawers, and I saw there were various nicknacks there (I can't recall what or whether they had uses, and it was unclear if they were hers).
I sat on one of two high kitchen stools brought into the living room to accommodate the group. P, our leader, took the other stool, and to the left two others sat on opposite sides of the low-lying couch. The windows were draped with sheer curtains and looked out onto green hedges and empty streets below.
The streets were deserted - small apartment complexes on all sides, but few sounds, and few places to walk.
She said she loved the neighborhood. There was a meditation center near, with beautiful gardens. It felt out of place, she said, too nice a haven among these surroundings. It felt like a cult, she said, although places like this are normal in Southern California.
P mentioned he had been thinking about decor - signage. What kind of sign? What should one wear when trying to get people to register? Who had a folding table? Should we place the table close to the beer? Will people be more willing to register if it is by the beer?
I feel most comfortable when neutral. I don't want to impose my view on another (although how can anything happen if you are not open to the exchange). I make subtle shifts in my choices and demeanor depending on where I am going: at the law office where I work, I wear sensible collared shirts, that I hang to dry so no iron is needed. At the artist studio, I wear leggings. For the architect, loose linen pants.