Repost - Last Penny, First Meal

Repost - Last Penny, First Meal

Sitting alone, he reached into his pocket and found a coin. Pulling it out, it was just an old penny. Pennies meant nothing any more, but he thought he’d keep it anyway. Kind of a keepsake now that Canada wasn’t making them anymore. And it truly was his last penny. His once shiny shoes were dusty and his wrinkled suit was dusty as his shoes. He was tired after a long day walking the streets. ‘Pounding the pavement' that’s what his dad used to call it. The offers of handouts, he was sorry he hadn’t taken. He was hungry - his stomach tight and sunken. He had been so sure that today would be the day he would find a job - a job that lasted. He had done a one time stint the day before at a restaurant washing dishes so he at least got fed a good meal. The sun was warm. The streets were quiet - everyone home. Home for supper, with a family. Living on the streets was so foreign to him. He didn’t belong with those folks gathered around the fire in the park after dark. He didn’t belong in the line ups at the soup kitchens. He shook his head. How had he gotten here? He’d heard his own story told many times - but it was at the water cooler or over dinner with a friend - and then it was always about someone else. Someone with no name or no face. He hadn’t learned how to survive without a pay cheque. Those lineups were filled with laughter, arguments or flat blank stares. He just didn’t belong there. He had had a good upbringing - sure there were arguments and dissatisfaction but it was just normal stuff. He followed his big brother through school always trying to keep up to him. He played a lot of sports. He got a good education that got him a good job. Almost even got married, but she found her career more important than having a family with him. That was OK. That’s kind of what women were expected to do.  

Then the company he was with went bankrupt. He didn’t know all the details, just that he was out of a job. Done. In a city far from any of his family or anyone he knew.

“Hey buddy. What are you just settin’ there for? Don’t you know it’s time to eat?”

An old fellow with a long fuzzy white beard and a long white braid had stopped in front of him. His clothes were neat and clean, but completely mismatched. The young man smiled at himself for the judgments tumbling through his head.

“I’m not sure I’m all that hungry, but thanks. My name is Steve.” He automatically reached out his hand in greeting. “Well I suppose I could eat a little bit. Do you mind if I join you? I haven’t a chance to visit with anyone all day. Been looking for work. By the way, how do you people survive out here? I’m between jobs and am getting back on my feet.”

“Sure, Steve, come on with me and I’ll introduce you to the folks that run this here kitchen. There’s a buncha pamphlets that’ll tell you all kinda things. Where meals are, job info, somethin’ called resume writing and how to get a clean room for the night - if you’re quick.  My name is Joe and I kinda talk a lot but I’ll try to slow down a bit. Here we are.”

Joe greeted a few of his friends with laughs, back slaps and gently for some ‘How’re you doin’ today?” Embarrassed, Steve stayed close, and was introduced around. 

“Steve, I finally got me a place to live but I keep my feet down here so I can spot you young fellas that need a guide. I can show you good and bad. Point out those folks to stay away from and those that are real helpers. Did you ever learn that in all your schools and jobs? Livin’ on the street you get to feel the sun and the rain. That’s good. Livin’ on the street, you can’t lock your doors - that’s bad.

“I’d never thought of those things I’ve been doing what I thought I should be doing - until now. But there’s no manual for suddenly being homeless with no money. The money I made at my jobs, I spent as fast as I made it. I guess it’s time to learn about surviving on my own wits and learn what’s important to me.

“Yep. You can be angry and feel sorry for y’self. Or you can come on with me and have supper. There’s some real learnin’ to be done here if you’re willin’ to be humble and ask for help.”

The young man still didn’t feel like he belonged but the old man had spoken to him as an elder to a child, all the while walking him to his first meal in a homeless shelter.

“People who are homeless are not social inadequates.

They are people without homes.”

~ Sheila McKechnie

Authors Note: 

First written May 16, 2013

Minor Editing November 19, 2023

Fledgling

Fledgling

“I don’t know if any of you will remember me. That’s not important. Let me take you back to a drizzly gray day on the street when fifty of us stood in a line-up waiting for that shuffle forward into the shelter for a bowl of soup. There was this one young man in the line who looked like he didn’t belong. He reminded me of the baby gull that had fallen from the roof top in the building beside the soup kitchen. Not much of a baby if I were to look at his size. His white gray feathers were all ruffled. His eyes looked sad. Don’t know if a gull can have sad eyes. And he looked tired. He’d been walking around the big apartment building that housed some fortunate folks. Squeaking out his baby gull cry over and over. His parents stayed at the edge of that apartment building the whole time, calling and grieving. It was like they knew it hadn’t been time for that young one to fly. That they had made a mistake by pushing him out of the nest. They called and called until the people on the top floors were angry and just wanted them to shut up. Those folks at the ground floor just wanted the baby gull to find his wings and fly away - or at least be quiet. 

Anyway, I was telling you about Steve. Yeah, that was his name. I’d just about forgotten. There he was in the soup kitchen lineup not knowing what to do. Kind of like that big baby gull. I often wonder where he got to. After showing him the dining hall, and sharing a meal with him he just seemed vanish.  I did show him where all the pamphlets were, but I could tell by the shame on his face that he didn’t want to be seen there. He had already told me the company he worked for was bankrupt. In the few words he did say at supper, he told me that he had just found a job that he was passionate about. He went kind of silent then. I wanted him to tell me more but he just put his spoon down and walked away. Now that I have this little room that I call home, I think about my own early days on the street. 

Did Steve ever find even a little room? Did he get back on his feet and find a passion to live life, not just give it up to the corporations. And all those men and women in the soup kitchen lines in their greying worn clothes, long hair and beards, in need of a shower, and a family? I know that some of them have gone on to their reward - and I do hope the reward is better than what they left behind. Some of them lived and died on the street. Some of them lived on the street and died in some hospital. Some of them returned to their families or found new ones. To look at’em you can never tell which is which. The soup kitchen lineups are just as long and sometimes longer. 

Well, I suppose it’s time for a cup of tea and get ready for bed. That still sounds strange to me - a bed and a cuppa when I spent years on cement with the cuppa filled with the soup kitchen tea. Good night to you all and thanks for listening to an old man’s ramble.”

“How shall I ever learn who I am when 

there is so much of me that belongs to someone else?”

~ Madeline Claire Franklin, The Poppet and the Lune

Taking A Walk

Accessibility makes life easier. Walking to the doctor today, I passed a man sitting under a tree. The tree that is his ‘office’. My mission was to have a check up. His mission seems to be to just survive. There are many stories. Sitting under trees, on sidewalks, on park benches, on street corners and places that I’ve not seen. Stories of a lifetime. Not an adult lifetime, but a life time from childhood, maybe even birth. Details that none of us will ever know.

What does that have to do with accessibility? I have access to everything in my life that I need or want. I have access to family and friends for support and kindness. I have access to employment so I can purchase the food I prefer, dentistry, gas for my car and clothes I prefer. I have access to my internal emotional life, options, and I am grateful. So when I see the person with a life story sitting under a tree, I am satisfied with my own life. Accessibility makes life so much easier.

“Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone….just remember that all 

the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Feeling Faded

Feeling Faded

With her faded dress and worn shoes she was certain she couldn’t go on. The streets were long and hard. Her morning began in great confidence. She knew before she left the shelter that she wasn’t the best dressed, but she was clean and one of the other girls had fixed her hair. She felt she looked quite professional. Tricia expected some rejections, but as the morning wore on, she began to feel something hardening in her soul. 

Tricia had enough in her wallet for lunch. Lunch would fix her flagging feelings. The warmth of the small diner felt good. She ordered soup and sandwich - the cheapest on the menu. The ginger carrot soup was smooth and delicious. Just enough of a bite to get her attention. Tricia closed her eyes and sat back in the chair. Easing her feet from her shoes without taking them off, she curled and uncurled her toes. Sitting forward again, she carefully ate lettuce and roast beef sandwich. It might be the last she ate for the day, so savoured every bite. Once her lunch was finished, making sure to drink an extra glass of water, the Ladies room was her next stop. 

Tricia wasn’t done with her job search. In the mirror she saw a too young and too tired woman who looked lost. Straightening up, she brushed back her hair, put a smile on her face and smoothed her skirt. For too long, she had drifted, finally living on the streets, in shelters and couch surfing. She had been angry with her parents, always wanting her to ‘have principles’. Tricia hadn’t seen her parents for…. How long? She couldn’t remember. Tricia wanted to tell them that she now had at least one principle. To become independent. To get her own place. To stop drifting.

Despite her faded dress and worn shoes, she also knew that she would go on. She would find her place in the world. By the end of the day, she had one job interview for the next day.

“The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.”

~ Coco Chanel

To Build a Better Home

To Build a Better Home

Birthdays are a time to put the star on the tree, as it were. Jordan had planned the tiniest of details of his party, pushing all of his staff to get everything perfect. His birthday was to celebrate his 55^th birthday and to celebrate the opening of his 10^th business. All of his businesses had been absolute successes. The only thorn in all of his plans was his nephew, Stanley. Jordan had been named Stanley’s guardian when Jordan’s brother and his wife had died tragically in a car accident when Stanley was three years old. For many years, their relationship had been magical. So while Stanley was his nephew, after all these years, their relationship was as father and son. But…..Stanley wanted more and more every day. Jordan did wonder sometimes if it was because he had given him too much as a child and a young man. He had never pushed him to be or do anything more than he wanted to. Now in his late twenties, Stanley was still needy and selfish.

Jordan’s new business was completely different. Jordan was known in his business community as a man who made money. Consumer businesses - electronics, furniture and anything else for the wannabe customers in the region. But tonight’s party was to announce the opening of a new Social Housing enterprise on the old Moorhead Estate. He had purchased the estate the year before with the original intent to create a grand new home for himself. But, his nephew Stanley had other ideas. He had been active in the Commuity Homeless Coalition for several years and had approached his uncle about developing social housing to house 20 to 25 families, including some units for single individuals. Selfish young man. Why should Jordan spend his money on people he didn’t even know? After much arm twisting, Jordan had acquiesced to his nephew’s constant pleas. Jordan thought the deal was complete. He could go ahead and have his architects and builders restructure Moorhead Arms into separate suites and apartments. But Stanley wanted to be in on all the details.  

Well, ultimately Jordan and Stanley would butt heads about these details. Stanley was not backing down and neither was his uncle. Jordan lived in a world of convenience and abundance. Those people that were homeless did not have even have the conveniences of showers, refrigerators or the security of a key in their front door. When Jordan was concerned about fancy light fixtures and plush carpeting, Stanley was concerned about building security and plumbing. 

One day there was a shouting match to end all shouting matches. Both were committed to going forward with the Social Housing enterprise. Jordan, because he found it was giving him a glowing community personna. Stanley because he had invested his life in providing for a very marginalized population. He had been aware for many years that he had been very, very fortunate to have been raised by his uncle, when foster homes could have been his lot. As evening gathered around their dissent, Jordan and Stanley realized they were getting nowhere. Sudden silence stretched the incredible tension. Continuing their fight could just erase any potential for success. They were more alike than they wanted to admit. 

Stanley was the first to speak. ‘Uncle Jordan. You are stubborn, arrogant and I love you. What can I do to make this work?’

‘Stanley, please just forgive me. I plow through things without thinking about anyone else. Just that I know best and believe I do know best. Take me to meet some of the people that live in these homes. I need to hear what they need, what they want. I don’t know that world and I want to know it.’

~~~~~

Moorhead Social Housing Estates opened successfully within the year as planned. There were still a few arguments, but they were much more quietly resolved. Jordan and Stanley listened to each other. Jordan still didn’t really understand the reasons for homelessness. Stanley still didn’t understand his uncles attitudes. Nevertheless, the business man and the social activitist were able to find a very workable and respectful common ground.

“We’re a team. It’s part of our job to help each other out, and to forgive each other quickly. Otherwise, we’d never get anything done.”

~ Jeremy Kraatz, Villains Rising

Author's note: edited January 31, 2024

Only A Door

There are many doors in this world

Doors 
 forever shut
  barely squeaking open on rusty hinges
   swinging freely with barely a push

Doors can be blocked and barred
  from lack and need
   passwords and permissions
    unlocked seconds before a slam shut.

No doors at all creates
 vulnerability where none was before
  insecurity and fear 
   a chaotic sleepless world.

Doors
  forever necessary
   hinges oiled instead of rusted with neglect
    create order from chaos

Curiously, only a door separates homes from homelessness.

“Not all doors open in the same direction and with the same effort.”

~ Jasleen Kaur Gumber

Author's note: Edited January 22, 2024

Coming Home to Apathy

I was going to write an essay tonight about the Homelessness Forum I attended this evening. The evening was lovely - 800 people in a grand old church listening to the Mayors of three cities - Victoria, Medicine Hat, Alberta and Eugene, Oregon discuss the challenges they have encountered. Solutions were entertained for housing for those without homes or the resources to get one.

But, I’m tired tonight so I’m just home from work, door locked with my feet up on my sofa while the dishwasher cleans up my dishes for me. Television is my companion - enjoyable and predictable. 

“People can be so apathetic. They continue to ignore the real people 

trapped in poverty and homelessness. It’s almost maddening.”

~ Daphne Zuniga

Homelessness - A Problem

Homelessness is a problem

The Homeless are a problem

Good thing I am not one of ‘them’

Must be a real challenge to be safe, well fed and, I suppose, transportation must be a problem..

You know, getting to work…...wait…..

No address….no bank account….no bathroom facilities for getting ready for work…….clean clothes…..

So who has the problem?

The mayors of three cities to meet in a public forum here in Victoria to discuss the solutions that have been implemented in Medicine Hat, Alberta and in Eugene, Oregon.

Sorry about the fuzzy picture (more technical difficulties!) The poster reads:

HOMELESSNESS

FREE EVENT  - OPEN TO THE PUBLIC

MONDAY, MAY 30th

7PM (doors open at 6:30)

Speakers are:

Mayor Ted Chapman,

Medicine Hat, Alberta

Mayor Lisa Helps

Victoria, BC

Mayor Kitty Piercy

Eugene, Oregon

“The big issue here is not the accuracy of the count. 

It is what the city is doing to address street homelessness”

~ Patrick Markee

Bringing Home Beliefs

I have never been homeless.
I’ll be without a home at September’s end.

I’ve never been homeless.
I have many home choices at my disposal.

I’ve never been homeless.
I have a job and a paycheque to acquire a home.

I’ve never been homeless.
The roof over my head will be different, but my beliefs will remain.

I’ve never been homeless.
What I bring under that roof will make up my home.

“Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless 

fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.”

~ Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose

Begin with a Key

Begin with a Key

He had been given a key. A shiny blue key. Blue to match his mood. Shiny to match his dreams of home and his barely contained excitement that they might come true. There were many more steps to be taken to find the door that would open into his own home. To get the bed and the table. To fill his refrigerator with food. But holding the key firmly in his gnarled old hands, he took the next step. That tiny blue key was his inspiration. That tiny blue key would become his motivation like the prayer bead his mother kept next to her heart.

“Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless 

fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.”

~ Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repost

An Evening with Tom Jackson - The Huron Carole

Beginning the Christmas season with The Huron Carole was a delight. Tom Jackson, Winnipeg born Canadian actor, singer, producer and activist, and his singers and band entertained a full house at the Royal Theatre on Broughton Street with familiar carols in innovative arrangements. He took the stage for the first half of the evening, joined gradually by the remainder of the cast. The last half of the evening was shared by the rest of the cast, including two west coast girls, Britt and Carly McKillip. The energy and talent of all the entertainers was joyous and moving.

The entire evening was a fundraiser for the Mustard Seed Society a local and very vital organization for the homeless and hungry in Victoria. The Huron Carole is a project to support organizations of front line workers with the homeless and hungry in Canada. He and his troupes have raised over two hundred million dollars in their musical Christmas travels.

This evening was the first of their annual Canadian tour which Tom Jackson began in 1987 in Toronto at a ‘dark time’ in his life. They will be travelling through western Canada with their next stop in Lethbridge, Alberta on December 2, 2014. Go to huroncarole.ca for more dates that continue through December 18, 2014 for a total of twelve dates.

“What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we 

have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.”

~ Albert Pike

Where are Intentions Hidden?

Walking to the bus stop, 
opportunity arose to study people sharing the sidewalk.
What were the intentions of the people passing on the street?
If they were coloured ribbons, 
would multicoloured streamers be blowing 
from shoulders, arms, fingertips?
What about the clean cut young man, 
crosslegged on a sidewalk corner, gently petting his sleeping dog?
Where do his intentions live? Are they homeless too?
The blue jacketed woman striding with purpose against the wind?
Does she carry them like a shopping list in pocket or purse?
And the young boys on their skate boards? 
Have they any intentions except of those of having fun?
Riding the bus, 
opportunity arose to study people on the street rushing past. 
On the open street the intentions of others are secret and hidden.

“What do we any of us have but our illusions? And what 

do we ask of others but that we be allowed to keep them?”

~ W.Somerset Maugham

Circumstance Unknown

She sat on the seat of her walker, long white hair fluffing out under a pink crocheted cap with a curled edge. She had a nice sunny spot on the busy sidewalk.

Her soft skin, only barely wrinkled, spread into a smile as I approached. Twinkling blue eyes greeted me. She nodded and said ‘Good morning.’

I had seen her before on that sidewalk, always clean, dressed neatly in faded jeans, a top to suit the weather and an old cap in hand for ‘donations’. Coins found their way into my hand and dropped into the cap.

‘Thank you, ma’am. Have a nice day.’

I know not what her circumstance is, nor is it my business. Poverty? Family estrangement? Both? None?

She does not ask for pity, and I offer her none. Aging is no respecter of economic circumstance. 

“Pity is a benign form of abuse.”

~ Michael J. Fox

Last Penny, First Meal

Last Penny, First Meal

Sitting alone, he reached into his pocket and found a coin. Pulling it out, it was just an old penny. Pennies meant nothing any more, but he thought he’d keep it anyway. Kind of a keepsake now that Canada wasn’t making them anymore. And it truly was his last penny. His once shiny shoes were dusty and his wrinkled suit was dusty as his shoes. He was tired after a long day walking the streets. 'Pounding the pavement' that’s what his dad used to call it. Offers of handouts, he was sorry he hadn’t taken. He was hungry - his stomach tight and sunken. He had been so sure that today would be the day he would find a job - a job that lasted. He had done a one time stint the day before at a restaurant washing dishes so he at least got fed a good meal. The sun was warm. The streets were quiet - everyone home. Home. For supper. With a family. 

Living on the streets was foreign to him. He didn’t belong with those folks gathered around the fire in the park after dark. He didn’t belong in the line ups at the soup kitchens. He shook his head. How had he gotten here? He’d heard his own story told many times - but it was at the water cooler or over dinner with a friend - and then it was always about someone else. Someone with no name or no face. He hadn’t learned how to survive without a pay cheque. Those lineups were filled with laughter, arguments or flat blank stares. He just didn’t belong there. He had had a good upbringing - sure there were arguments and dissatisfaction but it was just normal stuff. He followed his big brother through school always trying to keep up to him. He played a lot of sports. He got a good education that got him a good job. Almost even got married, but she found her career more important than having a family with him. That was OK. That’s kind of what women were doing these days.  

Then the company he was with went bankrupt - he didn’t know all the details, just that he was out of a job. Done. In a city far from any of his family - anyone he knew.

“Hey buddy. What are you just settin’ there for? Don’t you know it’s time to eat?”

An old fellow with a long fuzzy white beard and a long white braid had stopped in front of him. His clothes were neat and clean, but completely mismatched. The young man smiled at himself for the judgments tumbling through his head.

“I’m not sure I’m all that hungry, but thanks. My name is Steve.” He automatically reached out his hand in greeting. “Well I suppose I could eat a little bit. Do you mind if I join you? I haven’t a chance to visit with anyone all day. Been looking for work. By the way, how do you people survive out here? I’m between jobs and am getting back on my feet.”

“Sure, Steve, come on with me and I’ll introduce you to the folks that run this here kitchen. There’s a buncha pamphlets that’ll tell you all kinda things. Where meals are, job info, somethin’ called resume writing and how to get a clean room for the night - if you’re quick. My name is Joe and I kinda talk a lot but I’ll try to slow down a bit. Here we are.”

Joe greeted a few of his friends with laughs, back slaps and, gently to some, - ‘How’re you doin’ today?”  Embarrassed, Steve stayed close, and was introduced around.

“Steve, I finally got me a place to live but I like to keep my feet down here so I can spot you young fellas that need a guide. I can show you good and bad. Point out those folks to stay away from and those that are real helpers. Did you ever learn that stuff in all your schools and jobs? Livin’ on the street you get to feel the sun and the rain. That’s good. Livin’ on the street, you can’t lock your doors - that’s bad."

“I’d never thought of those things. I’ve been doing what I thought I should be doing - until now. But there’s no manual for suddenly being homeless with no money. The money I made at my jobs, I spent as fast as I made it. I guess it’s time to learn about surviving on my own wits and learn what’s important to me."

“Yep. You can be angry and feel sorry for y’self.  Or you can come on with me and have supper. There’s some real learnin’ to be done here if you’re willin’ to be humble and ask for help.”

The young man still didn’t feel like he belonged but the old man had spoken to him as an elder to a child, all the while walking him to his first meal in a homeless shelter.

“People who are homeless are not social inadequates.

They are people without homes.”

~ Sheila McKechnie

Balancing Christmas Treats

I’ve read today about 

some very real and very serious issues.

Genetically Modified foods and 

how they are impacting food supplies.

Homelessness - in this situation, 

food supplies are scant and not on a regular basis.

Political finagling at 

global, 

federal, 

provincial

local levels,

not to mention the responsibility that we all have to discuss with our families end of living and life issues.

In the midst of this anger, angst and worry

about the state of our being and the world in general,

today has had some very special and joyous moments with

laughter, friendship and

gingerbread houses of all shapes and sizes.

Our Monday walking group took a side trip today to visit 

The Great Gingerbread Showcase 2012

at the Laurel Point Inn in Victoria.

An annual competition for professional and amateur bakers,

all proceeds donated go to Habitat for Humanity Victoria.

There was, as a group, a second, and much needed,

side trip into the restaurant for coffee and their annual Christmas special ~ this lovely ginger cookie sandwich with

caramel sauce

cinnamon spice sauce and

a white chocolate straw.

A delicious way to donate to filling a need.....

Website for Habitat for Humanity Victoria:  http://habitatvictoria.com/

“I always try to balance the light with the heavy - a few 

tears of human spirit in with the sequins and the fringes.”

~ Bette Midler