So, here we are in the middle of the month, and I have yet to do an official written Ask!

I mean, to be fair, there’s been a lot to do in the last few weeks since this month began.

I, along with staff and Leadership Team, have been doing major renovations to the space of Lace on Race.

That means dust. And paint drips, and all new fixtures, and a complete re-imagining of the Lace on Race Living Room.

Because, to be quite honest, our old house has been showing wear, hasn’t it?

Considering how many of us have hung out at the orange tree, or on the front porch, or in the living room, we’ve kept it up quite nicely for over two years now! I mean, yes– we’re just a bit shabby, and we’ve never been fancy, and there are a few drops from wine spills and just enough Tikka Rose residue to make black pants an…’interesting’ satorial choice.

The lint rollers are by the door. Heh.

But these months since Jim and Kate, and now Charles and Mark and Chuck and Jerbear and their followers have really done a number on the house and property that we share.

Stuffing ripped out of sofas. Holes in the walls. Poop on the porch. Crushed young oranges. Ripped out flowers. Scribbles in books.

And that smell. Rotten, bitter, acrid. No amount of orange scented candles can mask the smell of the malevolent. Or the fetid fragrance of white supremacy as it tries to seep into the walls.

But nope. Like some of the best restaurants, we are going to re-purpose the House of Lace on Race.

The Lace on Race Cafe is being prepped for you! And for those we will serve.

Hear this. For those we will serve.

Like Jim. Like Kate. Like Charles. Like Mark. Like Chuck. Like Jerbear.

We have gotten comfortable in these last two and a half years. We have become used to good orangeade, and orange pound cake, and chicken with orange sauce. We have become used to always seeing our favorite cup on the shelf; our favorite throw on the club chair; our favorite furry rug beneath our feet.

We got used to being served. By me, later by staff, and, most recently, by the Leadership Team.

I am not at all sorry. Here, we have learned to love, and to cleave. We have learned to share the last slice of orange cake; have poured from shared teapots; have shared blankets to keep our feet warm.

We have been lucky in this. We have. We are used to a space with good actors. We are used to treating each other with kind candor. We are used to looking each other in the eye.

So we were indeed–I was indeed–caught off guard, first with Kate–Kate who treated me like a recalcitrant employee, to Jim who went from fawning to vitriolic in the space of 10 minutes, to the debacle that is The Christian Left who have spent more time in toxic tactics than they ever would have expended simply answering the queries we posed.

So no. We were not ready for name calling, on or off this page. We were not ready for wholesale dirty deleting, sarcastic drive bys, threats on my life.

We were not ready for below the belt losing strategies, or every lower level defense you could think of.

Tikka is a fairly big dog. Whatever aggression she had (almost none) when she rescued me six years ago, I trained out. So now, she expects every hand to be gentle, every voice to be loving. So when she is faced with dogs who come up on the property who are more aggressive, she is honestly perplexed. And then, usually, she trains them in her way. Since everyone is to be loved and played with, she loves and plays. Most stay and play with the tennis balls and the sticks and the nerf football. The ones who are set into their old ways don’t attack–but they do leave. Tikka rules her domain- with a love and benevolence.

Would Jim and Kate and Charles and Mark and Jerbear etc. have done the same as the heavy breathing rottweilers, or the yappy little dogs, who the old girl still thinks are snacks that run, either learned the ways of Casa Tikka or just exited the front field, rather than attempt to burn the field and the house to the ground. Were that they had the character and self awareness of the boxer who kept it moving after she learned she would have to share the stick.

But no. So now we have major renovations to do in their wake. Renovations we are doing while they are still here, doing their best to destroy.

But we do it anyway. So then, the Lace on Race Cafe.

We have talked about it, this Cafe. About the takeout counter for those who just want fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. About the kitchen with the chef’s table where the work gets done and where sore feet can rest.

I smile at the image as I imagine all of us working at the enterprise; planning, peeling, stirring, sautéing, roasting, plating, serving.

Serving.

When I came up with the idea of Lace on Race Cafe, the first conceptualization was that it would be us in the fancy dining room.

Nope.

The fancy dining room is for….wait for it….

The white napkins and damask covered chairs and crystal goblets and fragile china and sterling place settings are for Mark.

And Charles.

And Kate.

And Jim.

And Chuck.

And Jerbear.

And all of their lurkers and apprentices who are learning their ways.

We are here to serve them.

Knowing full well they *will* break the wineglass and crush it under their feet.

Knowing they will ground the raspberry reduction into the carpet.

Knowing they will rip through the damask chairs, and gouge the antique table.

Knowing they will use the sterling silver fork and try to stab us with it, even as we continue to serve them.

And serve them we will. With nourishing food they have never tasted before. And when they throw it on the walls; smear it on the doors we will be right there with another plate. And another. And another. We will be there to bind the wounds they cause in the fancy dining room, to themselves (because vitriol and anger and contempt that carry corrodes them from the inside) and the wounds they visit upon us. But we never retreat.

We can rotate though.

We can go back, into the kitchen, sit heavily at the Chef’s Table. and someone will share their plate, the plate made of heavy ceramic, and the chipped cup, and you will rest, and your fellow walker will go out and serve.

And Serve. And Serve.

We need to learn how to serve, ever better, ever deeper.

We need to continue to have the resources to serve again, and again, and again. We need to show each other who we have chosen to be even as mashed potatoes and baby carrots are thrown in our faces. We need new aprons. We need to cleave at the Chef’s Table.

So, The Ask. So we can keep giving people who have never drunk good wine; never wiped their faces with soft white linen, who have never heard the good piano because they are screaming invective over every chord.

But not only for them. For us. They can trash the Fancy Dining Room, and we will give them the best they have ever seen, and they will eat and drink deeply, even as they vilify the chef; even as they disparage the food.

But they will never deface or malign the Chef’s Table. The Ask is for us too. To give us the tools and strategies to be ever better and more effectively serve those in the Dining Room, one or two of whom *will* stop breaking and looting and destroying, and will actually settle down and eat. And maybe ask for our recipe. And we will be o so ready when they do.

The Lace on Race Cafe is in preparation, even as we continue to do our best to stay a step ahead of the vandals and looters that are Jim and Kate and Mark and Charles and Jerbear and their acolytes.

But we are building something even better.

Join us.

Sustainers (Chef’s Table) and sustainers in training, if you have not fulfilled your September commitment, this is an invitation to so so! For those of you who are new and or a la carte, this is your opportunity to partner with us and to strengthen your praxis through financial engagement with a space you find valuable and worth supporting.

As always, I love you. Covered in flower, with more than a few burns from the last few months. But still here, still stirring, still in sturdy clogs and a jaunty toque. Here to cook, to plate, to serve, to love.

Walk with me.

As Always,

Your Chef Lace

We have a NEW PAYPAL ADDRESS that we’d like everyone to start using effective immediately.  Please follow paypal.me/LaceonRace for your financial engagements going forward.