... from the DumbWoody Crew!
Hope we live to share another day!
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
I know a man who follows a peculiar trail. He’s one of the kindest men I know. He’s a freegan by weekend; a guerrilla gardener by week day; and a full time caregiver to at least two retired veterans every other day of the week. He’s driven by a Chinook wind; the Chinook’s name is Boris.
BeBe’s walk in life is a dog trail crossing a frozen tundra; at least for this Minnesota Winter.
But I’ve known BeBe in the spring; I’ve worked next to him in the summer; and we’ve enjoyed more than one fall harvest together.
Spring Faith
Summer Disappointment
Fall Reflection
Today, we share the warmth and fellowship of the family hearth … a brief respite along a peculiar trail.
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
Christmas morning. As my first cup of coffee perks, I look under our tree and see loads and tons and bunches of gifts. Most of the gifts are for the kids and the grandkids.
We have a Christmas tradition in our house ... the family gathers every Christmas Morning for breakfast and Santa stuff and opening gifts. There'll be more sausages and eggs and cheese gravy than we'll be able to eat. And it looks like there'll be more presents than we could ever hope to open. Nah, the grandkids will make short work of the gifts.
Any morning I can gather with family is a blessing! I'm especially blessed to be able to gather with family this Christmas morning. I know a lot of homeless people who won't have so much to do this Christmas morning. You see, it's Sunday morning.
Oh yeah! It's Sunday and I gotta’ get going!
You see, every Sunday, I go out to the streets to visit our homeless friends, bringing them food, clothing, and Christian fellowship. I don't miss a Sunday, except for bad weather, vehicle problems, and I think once I was sick. This Sunday's not going to be any different.
Someone said, "But it's a holiday." Gee, God doesn't take a holiday. And neither does homelessness.
"But what about your family and the grandkids and all the gifts?" askes another. Gee, I can see my family and grandkids any day of the week, except Sunday. And Thursday. And some Tuesdays and most Fridays and often Wednesdays. You see, those are the days I try to visit our family of friends who live on the streets. Of course, I'm always around evenings for my grandkids.
This Sunday will be no different for me. Except now, I look outside and see we got some freezing rain last night. I hope the roads are OK and that my friends made it through the night and that I'll have enough sandwiches and coffee to go around. I do have some long johns and socks and boots to share if I come across a friend in need.
Now, I've got to go! I have to load the cooler and scrape the windows and warm up the van and ...
Oh, by the way; if you are thinking of giving our less fortunate family and friends something for Christmas, it's not too late. Shucks, if you're reading this in July, it's not too late to give a gift we all could use everyday; the gift of heartfelt prayers from family and friends.
You probably already pray for the less fortunate.
In fact, in your family, it may already be A Christmas Tradition!
GOD'S BLESSINGS!
Kelly
Christmas Day With Family and Friends
I got to spend Christmas Day with our family and friends on the street. I left home about 8 AM and got back about 6 PM.
Kinda makes for a full day, when you have as many family and friends as I do.
I saw friends today I didn’t even know I had. And, I didn’t get to see some family I was hoping to see. You probably have a lot of family and friends like that, too.
Family and Friends, you know there’s a difference between the two.
I have stories of both family and friends. I share some of those stories here with you.
I take pictures of both family and friends. I share some of those pictures here, too.
I have so many stories and so many pictures and there are so many names to remember that I often get them all shook up. I tell a story and mention a name and show a picture … and you can’t tell who’s who or even if the story is for real.
Unless, you are family.
Cool Harley was happy this Christmas morning. He got an orange, not another lump of coal!
Trailer Tom awoke with a smile as big as the sunshine this Christmas morning!
Not all of my friends are homeless; not all in my family have homes. And I don't share all of my pictures and stories with you; I don't know if you are family or friend.
So, when you look here for a picture of family and read here for a story of friends, I’ll let you decide which is which and what is true.
I just hope for this Christmas, you have as many family and friends as I do.
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
One of the first homeless friends I met on the street was Cuzsin' Bill. I learned right away that most everybody on the street, all of the homeless anyway, have ‘tags’ … nicknames used more to tell each other apart than to preserve anonymity. There was an Uncle Bill, a couple of Wild Bill’s, a TooTall Bill … even a Hillbilly Bill, to name a few. Then, there was Cuzsin' Bill.
Cuzsin' Bill lived on a hill behind the potato factory. But as far as I could tell, Cuzsin' Bill was from all over the United States. He could tell you a story from anywhere, right down to the year and the street corner, with the name of the local barmaid tossed in for good measure.
Cuzsin' Bill sometimes tells outlaw stories; Jesse James being his favorite character. He tells a lot of stories from real life, too; himself being the favorite character.
And Cuzsin' Bill sings like he talks; in an over-exaggerated drawl with a twang that echoes country and bumpkin at the same time. At least, that’s how he sounds when he’s drinkin’ singin'.
When I saw Cuzsin' Bill last, it was about 20-below zero, minus the wind chill. He was sitting in his kitchen; a make-shift shelter of pallets and tarps tied up against some trees. A spike pail sat in the corner and served as his cookstove. The stove spit black smoke at a small hole cut in the ceiling, a hole way to small to let out much smoke. Everything in the kitchen was cloaked in black soot.
Cuzsin' Bill was sitting hunkered over the warmth of his fire, elbows on his knees. He poked his soot-covered face out at me and choked … “Chap’lin Keah’lee … yOU Thin’ I’mm crayZeee?”
He looked at me, hazy-like; his white eyes sticking out from his soot-black face. I about laughed, considering Cuzin Bill's the most prejudiced white man I know. His head bobbed as steam rose from his seat forming a foggy mist about his middle. It’s twenty below zero; Cuzsin' Bill’s drunk and just pee’d himself; and he’s askin’ me if I think he’s crayZeee?
I put my hand on Cuzsin' Bill’s shoulder and said, “Billy, you’re not crazy; you’re sick.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I think that’s what they call alcoholism, isn’t it – a mental illness? I probably didn’t need to say anything, but Cuzsin' Bill was asking. He probably didn’t remember anything that day anyway, he wasn’t in the remembering mood; he was in the drinking mood.
That drinking mood happened to Crazy Craig a few years back. Craig lived in an abandoned grain elevator by the river. One winter night, he and his buds were drinking and Crazy Craig passed out in a snow bank and pee’d himself. His friends found him the next morning, half-froze. Craig got an ambulance ride to the hospital, and ended up loosing both of his legs to the infection that followed the frostbite that came after the fool night he spent in the snow bank.
One day, Crazy Craig went back to the river and pushed his wheelchair over a cliff with him in it. I guess he didn’t want to have to think about much of anything anymore. Maybe, he got really tired and lonely; I don’t know.
Like with Cuzsin' Bill; I never know what to say. He sure looks tired and lonely sometimes, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Except I can be there for him if he’s ever in the mood for a friend that doesn’t mind so much when he's just pee’d himself.
When someone tells me I have to walk a mile in their shoes ...
I think there are sometimes I just can’t.
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
This little piggy went to market.
This little piggy had no home.
This little piggy ate all the roast beef.
This little piggy got none.
This little piggy went wee wee wee ... till it was gone.
An Early Present ...
If you've been wondering about Willie, he found us!
In the bitter cold after Thanksgiving, Willie found his way to a hospital. I'm not sure how, his feet were probably froze. All I know is; Willie was gone and now he's back.
But Willie's missin' a digit. The doctors had to amputate one of his toes. I don't know the particulars. I do know that Willie is outside today. And he joined us for lunch.
I think Willie's looking pretty good. What do you think?
Willie has a voucher to stay at the Salvation Army. I'm not sure what kind of service he'd get at the SA; he would stay with other vulnerable adults there. I've heard that the 3rd floor can be a tough place. Willie says he doesn't like it there. Maybe he doesn't like the food. Maybe he'd miss his family.
I know that my Grandpa didn't like staying in an old folks home, but he did until the day he died. I think my Grandpa died of homeless-loneliness. I knew my Grandpa pretty well.
So ... Willie's back. And, I'm not so lonely now!
I can't speak for Willie though, I don't know the particulars.
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
Word went around; we're looking for Willie'. But, Willie's gone AWOL.
Friends talked to friends, who talked to the cops. A body was recently fished out of the river, but it wasn't white, so it wasn't Willie. Someone asked the DETOX van driver, but he hadn't seen Willie. We haven't checked the hospitals, yet. I'm hoping that Willie went back to the wet-house.
Willie got hit by a car some years back, and ended up in the hospital. He 'recovered' from his injuries in a wet-house. Willie says he didn't like staying there much, as far as having company or making friends went. Says he spent too much time in his room, a-vegetatin'. When he wasn't a-vegetatin', he was a-salivatin' at the sneeze-bar.
They say they feed you good at the wet-house. They do take their share of 'ker-chink' from your SSI check, but when you stay at the wet-house, you get all you can eat. And, you drink all you can get. ('Wet-house' ... get it?)
Willie says he stayed at the wet-house for seven-something years. He says he blew up to over 500 pounds or something, so he left the wet-house to live in the woods. That's when I met Willie.
Back when Wille moved to the woods over 30 years ago, he says he took to the animals right away. He says he got to know the geese, the squirrels ... even, the bats.
One day, he was sittin' with some friends in a little clump of woods down on the tracks. Somebody had some beer; someone else, some weed. Another had brought cherry-filled donuts. Everybody sat around eating cherry donuts, drinking beer and getting stoned - or so Willie tells it. In fact, when Willie first told the story to me, I didn't believe a word of it.
Willie says he was sitin' there, eatin' a donut, and the cherry stuff falls out on the ground. As he looks down, something dropped from a tree, bounced off his sholder, and fell in the cherry stuff. Willie says he looked closer and saw it was a bat. He says he stuffed the bat in a pillbox he had, and then put the whole thing in his pocket.
Willie says he saved the rest of his cherry-filled donut to feed to the bat. Eventually, he forgot about the bat in the pillbox, until the day he got hit by that car. Willie says he woke up in the Emergancy Room, technicians standing over him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a nurse pull the pillbox out of his jacket. When the nurse opened the pillbox, Willie says things got crazy-loud. He says they quick stuck him with a needle or something, and that's all he remembered until he woke up. Nobody ever mentioned his pillbox. And he hasn't seen his bat since.
But, Willie still likes the animals. He's alway talking about conversations he has with the animals. I can't hardly understand him sometimes. But then, I don't hardly understand animals, either. At least, I don't understand the wild ones so well.
I do understand my dogs. And, when I introduced my dogs to Willie, Willie took to the dogs, right away!
I wonder if Willie misses his bat?
I sure miss Willie.
Kelly
"Caring for the poor and homeless has become a business in this generation. The poor and homeless who receive services are referred to as clients. Businesses that provide services to the homeless are not funded by the quality of service provided, they are funded by the number of clients served."
On any given day, over 20 thousand people are homeless across the State of Minnesota, according to a non-profit business that censuses such things.
The city of St. Paul recently announced a five-year plan to end chronic homelessness in the city. Included in the 131-million dollar plan (that’s $26,000,000 per year, or over $2,000,000 per month): $64,000,000 is for 920 new or existing ‘supportive housing units’ (about $70,000 per unit); $36,000,000 is for ‘rental assistance’ ($7,000,000 per year, or $600,000 per month); $31,000,000 goes to ‘supportive services’ not yet determined. Plus, another $11,000,000 will be, or has been, or is going to be set aside for one of the biggest faith-based charities in the country to build a 120-bed, single occupancy facility (that’s over $92,000 per bed). I think the facility is called a ‘wet-house’.
And, this is only Phase I of a five-year plan to end chronic homelessness, in only one city in Minnesota. Turn that into a ten-year plan, double the money to 260-some million bucks … Now, that’s a business!
Already, most, if not all agencies that provide ‘overnight shelter’ to the homeless get paid by the County or State to provide beds for the homeless. Agencies receive up to $40 per night per person, and that’s dorm-style sleeping with 10 or more beds per room. Where’s Motel 6 when you need them? I don’t know what kind of money the agency receives that shelters 250-plus men on floor mats each night. The men try to sleep while packed in one large room like sardines. They have to dodge the ‘crackers’ (crack smokers and dealers) and gang-bangers if they need to use the horrible bathroom facilities. The men are given floor mats because the agency can’t, or won’t, get the license required if the men are given beds.
Already, agencies that operate detox facilities get paid by the County or State to provide services to the inebriated. If you are homeless and stay in detox, you’ll never see a bill for your visit. If you are blue collar and stay in detox, you will be billed thousands of dollars for a three-day stay, and you will be sued in small claims court if you or your insurance doesn’t pay the bill. Some homeless people use detox as a shower/laundry facility. Some even brag of staying in detox over 200 times in a one-year period. The problem got so expensive, the County started a program that paid chronic detox users (homeless alcoholics) to stay out of detox. A chronic detox user could get over $200 per month to stay away. Wonder what the chronic detox user does with that kind of money?
Already, a large non-profit agency operates at least one ‘wet house’ in Minneapolis, a facility where chronic alcoholics, mostly homeless, are provided a room, three meals a day, and some security. I understand that residents have to be receiving Social Security Income (federal welfare). The agency receives the resident’s monthly SSI benefits, and then gives the individual back a stipend (under $50) for personal expenses. Plus, the agency receives other State and county funding to supplement the costs of doing business.
Most agencies that provide services to the homeless are non-profits that spend a big part of their annual budgets on administration, and to solicit your tax-deductible contributions that enable them to continue in business. The holidays are the time of year most agencies kick off these ‘capital campaigns’, and they advertise using black and white photos of toothless, homeless men in an attempt to guilt you out of your spare change.
The ding-a-ling agencies this holiday season are supposed to be a Harbor in the storm of life. They are already paid by State, County and Federal governments to conduct the business of homelessness. Then, they hire the homeless at minimum wage to stand out in the cold to solicit more funds (one lousy job!) so they can operate throughout the rest of the year. The agencies receive surplus cold weather gear from the military, and then sell the gear back to the homeless so they are able to stand out in the cold to solicit contributions. If the homeless use the agencies' facilities to sleep at night, I think they are charged for their bed.
Don’t kid yourself. Providing services to the homeless has become a business; for some service providers, it is BIG business.
If there are over 20,000 people homeless in Minnesota on any given night, I wonder how many people are providing services to the homeless on any given day. Doubt if any group censuses that information. That wouldn’t be good for business.
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
"I was wondering if sometime you could explain how and why some of these persons are homeless."
Homelessness is a walk in life; a collection of experiences that comes from living day to day when you have no permanent address.
Homelessness isn’t caused by addiction, mental illness, or sin. Homelessness is not always miserable, can actually be healthy, and does not always mean 'poor'.
A person can be homeless and still have a job, a cell phone, even a major credit card. You can be homeless and travel cross country with the changing seasons. A homeless person may or may not file honest tax returns.
Being homeless can mean spending time alone, hating life. But that can happen if you are a rock star, or even a President.
Being homeless might make recovery from addiction difficult; it probably complicates mental health issues; and it could lead to a life of debauchery. But then, the walk in life of the clergy could do the same things.
Homelessness does not have to be a chronic condition. But then, I’ve known chronic liars who couldn’t tell a straight joke to the judge.
When you are homeless, you can have blood relatives and never be in touch. You can have a home with family all around you, and you may never experience unconditional love.
Bad things can happen to you when you are homeless. But then, bad things happen to good people all the time.
Homelessness may not be a chosen walk in life, but for some, it is their walk in life. The homeless will always be with us; and there will always be pain and suffering in the world.
Now that we know that, what are we going to do about it?
Kelly
The Little Clump of Woods
The men in the yellow vests keep coming back to the little clump of woods. They come at different times on different days throughout the week. The men come on four-wheel-drive karts and in pickup trucks and in panel vans. They have orange lights on their vehicles that flash; “Men Working Ahead!” The men come to the little clump of woods carrying GPS units and hammers and clipboards. They measure, look up, and then measure again. The men talk on cell phones as they point, and they tie little pink ribbons on big wooden stakes.
The men first started coming around earlier this summer, just after Willie and Hillbilly got hauled off to jail for drinking in the little clump of woods. ‘John Q. Public’ called PoPoe on his Cell Pho’ (911). The ol’ boys got rousted and had to spend an entire weekend in jail before they could see a judge. Apparently, the judge was furious about how these two retired veterans were treated. Willie and Hillbilly were ordered to be released immediately, the judge even sent letters of apology to the two. Still, right after that, the men in the yellow vests started coming down to the little clump of woods. And now, there seems to be no end to them.
The little clump of woods is in an area where the University wants to build a new stadium. Next year, the University plans to host a major tennis tournament near the little clump of woods; new tennis courts have already been built. Future plans call for a transit express way – complete with pedestrian trails – to run through, over, and in between the little clump of woods. Now, the little clump of woods has got to go.
For as long as I can remember, the little clump of woods has been a ‘last refuge’ for the homeless. It was one of those out-of-sight, out-of-wind places to gather for a meal around a fire. I remember ten years ago when the University started to clean up jungles (tramp camps) in the area. The war cry then was, “Get the garden first, or they’ll come back to eat!”
I think that taking away the little clump of woods where the homeless gather for fellowship is a part of somebody’s Ten Year Plan to end homelessness in the community. A Ten Year Plan is a never-ending battle – like a war that is harder to get out of than it was to start – like a war whose casualties are innocent, whose victims wear the uniform of the homeless.
Kelly
¶ 9:00 PM 0 comments
So Cold. And So Dark.
The Moon's so cold, it's frozen,But not alone in that black sky,
Got stars to share its shivers.
I'm so alone. All I want is to die.
By CoalTrain '88
It's so cold outside tonight, I don’t think it can even snow. The below-zero temperature condenses whatever moisture is in the air, and a fine, icy mist falls on my gloved hand. I remember seeing ‘Robin’ when I was out on the streets this afternoon, and I’m especially grateful now; grateful that I have a pair of gloves to wear.
I was on my regular Sunday route, driving around looking for our homeless friends. As I drove by a local church - a humongously overly dressed church – I noticed a few ‘overly dressed’ folks standing on the corner. In all my winter travels, I only see two kinds of people dressed in up-teen layers of mismatched garments; ice fishermen and the homeless.
Yeah, the sun was shining this afternoon, but it was still dangerously cold. If you stood in the sun and out of the wind, you could feel the peculiar warmth of the sun on your cheeks; a deceiving heat, when exposed flesh was actually freezing, not warming up. Our friends on the corner were dressed, so, warm-looking.
I parked my van at the curb near the base of statue Father ‘Something-or-Other’. I park at the base of the statue, so when I’m told I can’t park there anymore, I’ll kneel and point up and say I’m just waiting for the blessing of the statue that sheds tears of blood. Hey, it could happen! And it would happen, if that saintly block of stone ever got a live glimpse of our homeless friends – our friends that began piling out of the basement of the church before I could shut off my van.
I keep telling our friends that I don’t like to stop at the church steps to feed them. I don’t like attracting attention because I get too many questions about what I’m doing, and it’s too hard to explain unconditional love to some people. I sternly remind our friends that I stop only two blocks away near a bridge where many of them spend the night. I vow that I’ll not be stopping at the church steps again anytime in the near future! (Then, I’ll stop there later in the week because I won’t just drive by when I see someone in need.)
As our friends stood in line for sandwiches and pop, I noticed Robin among the group. Robin staggered when he approached the van. He grabbed at others as he cut to the front of the line. He blurted out a drunken slur of apologies and excuses, for God only knows what? I reached out and grabbed at his arm as he leaned into me.
Robin’s blistered hand was swollen and stiff; his skin was hard and cracked, like a frozen old boot. I rubbed his hand in mine and asked if he had any gloves.
“I’ve gone and lost ‘em!” he said with a nervous laugh.
I gave Robin my last pair of cotton jersey gloves. If you don’t know ‘cotton jersey gloves’, then you must pay more than a buck a pair for your gloves. Jersey gloves are the easiest and cheapest gloves to buy, and I go through every pair of jersey gloves I can get. (Our homeless friends keep loosing their gloves!)
Some people don’t think we should pass out gloves to the homeless “if they’re just going to loose them anyway!” Some people think we should wait for a gloveless man to sober up, to become more responsible – part of a program? - before we give him a pair of gloves. Some people would drive right by a gloveless homeless man and let him freeze his hands rather than give him a pair of one dollar gloves. (Serves him right, eh?)
We could give a friend like Robin a pair of gloves everyday for a year, and every day, Robin could loose his gloves and it would still only cost $365.00 a year. Plus, with gloves, Robin might never freeze his hands like Tony Macaroni did. Tony Macaroni froze his fingers off one winter, and loosing his fingers killed him. Tony became so despondent when he couldn’t roll himself a cigarette that his life just didn’t seem worth living anymore. He told everybody he wanted to die one afternoon, and the next morning, he just didn’t wake up.
TonyMac '99
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
So, it’s dark now. And it’s so cold. But, I’m home, and I’m warm.
And I’m thinking about my homeless friends who have to crawl into a frozen bedroll to go to sleep tonight.
I wonder how long it takes to warm up and fall asleep in a heap of frozen rags. I’ll bet it doesn’t take as long if you’re drunk enough to pass out and don't care if you ever do wake up again, because you really don’t have anything to wake up for, and nobody to wake up to.
Update on Willie …
Today, I went down to the vacant alley and found the abandoned trailer where I had left Willie and our propane stove. I scouted around the freshly fallen snow and didn’t see any tracks leading in or out of the trailer. The stove and the propane tank were still there: the paint on the stove, burnt to a crisp; the tank, empty. But no WeeWillie.
When I saw Willie last, I helped him get a new pair of winter boots. I don’t know why he wanted new boots, he can’t hardly walk anyway.
I have no idea what’s happened to Willie. Maybe he’s not homeless anymore!
Kelly
