Neighbors - We've Got Trouble Right Here!
There is evidence that our community is in trouble. I believe we better start paying attention to what some might consider “small stuff.”
Daily I pick up bottles and cans tossed along the roadside. I always run with a plastic bag that is usually full by the time I return home. Drivers and their passengers have decided someone else is in charge of trash pick up. I am reminded of the high school kids I queried as to why they threw their trash on the floor in the cafeteria although large canisters were three feet from the lunchroom tables. With out missing a bite a young man looked surprised and said, “That is why we have janitors.” Yesterday I played tennis at one of our public courts. Tennis players leave cans, bottles and plastic containers everywhere. I don’t recall any such debris at Wimbledon. The ever present number of plastic cans and bottles convey a message to commuters and park users that we don’t care. What does one more can or bottle matter anyway?
Far more alarming is the increase of graffiti. Our back fences, roadways, street signs, sidewalks, running paths and electric boxes have become canvases for some disturbing artwork. My daughter taught me long ago, that such small scribbles indicate conversations between gang members or “gang wanna-bes.” On one of my running routes there is hot and heavy talk going on between those using red paint and those answering in white. By ignoring such commentary, we are saying, “You are welcome here. It is OK to paint our town.” By ignoring the painted scribbles, we are saying, “Write what ever you like. We are too busy to stop, to care, to cover it up.”
Early this morning I ran along an old railroad track in Minnetonka. In the tunnel located under Highway 101 someone has covered all of the grafitti with gray paint. The message is clear. We will not tolerate such language…such conversations… here. Stop the conversations. Paint over the gang language. Pick up the cans and bottles. Stop the trashing both in talk and in stuff. This isn’t small stuff. This stuff oozes and erodes.
Daily I pick up bottles and cans tossed along the roadside. I always run with a plastic bag that is usually full by the time I return home. Drivers and their passengers have decided someone else is in charge of trash pick up. I am reminded of the high school kids I queried as to why they threw their trash on the floor in the cafeteria although large canisters were three feet from the lunchroom tables. With out missing a bite a young man looked surprised and said, “That is why we have janitors.” Yesterday I played tennis at one of our public courts. Tennis players leave cans, bottles and plastic containers everywhere. I don’t recall any such debris at Wimbledon. The ever present number of plastic cans and bottles convey a message to commuters and park users that we don’t care. What does one more can or bottle matter anyway?
Far more alarming is the increase of graffiti. Our back fences, roadways, street signs, sidewalks, running paths and electric boxes have become canvases for some disturbing artwork. My daughter taught me long ago, that such small scribbles indicate conversations between gang members or “gang wanna-bes.” On one of my running routes there is hot and heavy talk going on between those using red paint and those answering in white. By ignoring such commentary, we are saying, “You are welcome here. It is OK to paint our town.” By ignoring the painted scribbles, we are saying, “Write what ever you like. We are too busy to stop, to care, to cover it up.”
Early this morning I ran along an old railroad track in Minnetonka. In the tunnel located under Highway 101 someone has covered all of the grafitti with gray paint. The message is clear. We will not tolerate such language…such conversations… here. Stop the conversations. Paint over the gang language. Pick up the cans and bottles. Stop the trashing both in talk and in stuff. This isn’t small stuff. This stuff oozes and erodes.
posted by Ada at
7:21 AM
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