I'm not
very good at coming up with titles, catchphrases or any of that kind of thing.
I tend to label something according to its contents and leave it at that. I
hope that the things that are memorable are the contents themselves, not the
label. If I had to depend on labels I would have disappeared into a fog of
forgetfulness ages ago; I don't have a spectacularly memorable name. The one
saving grace is that my name is the same as the one who bore Jesus. That's good
enough for me.
Anyway,
notes from Nebraska can kind of be a semi-recurring thing. Stuff happens here,
has happened, or is about to happen. Imagine that. Nowhere else in the world
does any of that go on. Well, I was thinking about this and I'll get to that in
a moment, but first I ran across something that just amused me mightily:
I made
this all by myself, from memory. My father had this "business card"
that he lugged around in his wallet for as far back as I remember, up until he passed on; it was in his effects when he died. He would pull his business card out with glee and cackle over it every so often and then squirrel it away again. He was one of those people that you
laughed along with. He told awful jokes, stunningly bad stories, but had one of
those laughs. My mother used to holler along with him and then just stop
and say, "but, that's not funny," and start laughing again. Actually,
it was. They were both hysterical. I was the straight man in the outfit.
So, I
thought of this because of some bonehead on Facebook who got caught doing some
pinheaded thing, AGAIN, and I thought, "well, ya dumshit!" hmm. I
learned that from my daddy. Understand something. Being very good Scots, my
parents had me swearing at a very early age. Not just the
h-e-double-hockey-sticks swears, oh no, we went whole hog. The first time I
said "shit" I was probably seven. No one ran around saying "um,
Mary's not supposed to say shit is she? Shit's a bad word isn't it? I'm good,
because I don't say shit," and so on. Besides, who were my parents going
to tell? Each other? No, it was a day of pride. Little Mary said her first
dirty word.
Well, it
wasn't quite a day for celebration, but I didn't go to the wood shed either;
they pretty much just ignored it. I was warned not to unleash my newfound
vocabulary in the school yard or the classroom. Didn't want to get notes and
calls from those assholes now, did we? Just kidding. Nevertheless, it is true,
that there is a European's tolerance of profanity that is not generally shared
by Americans, but when in Rome, do, blah blah. I appreciate that and try to not
inflict vulgarity on tender ears. I can be a salty bitch.
Time to
jump the tracks and I'll try to behave. It has been brought to my attention
that there is going to be a new homeless center built about 2 blocks from where
I am living. There are 2 churches close by here who feed the homeless, one of
them feeds once a week and the other feeds 3 times a day, but people who eat at
that church are required to go to one of their services. At 45 minutes a
service, that's not too painless. Those 2 churches are north of me. The new
center which will have no church affiliation is 2 blocks south. Ground has not
yet been broken, so it will be some time before there are any people helped
there.
Several
people around here have told me that "there will be homeless people all over the
place! It will be terrible!" The implication being that the homeless will
be sleeping under the trees, in doorways, in the trees, under cars, peeing
behind buildings, in short, pretty much what they are doing now. I looked at
the people who were saying this. I get it. I'm kind of afraid and I see fear in their eyes. Should we draw ourselves in? Pull up the drawbridge? Man the ramparts?
Instead, I said, "hey guys. We've been
there. They have to be somewhere; some of them are here. It'll be okay; we'll
make 'em feel wanted. It won't be terrible. It's not now, is it?" The problem
is? We've all been through so goddamned much. We all thought none of any of
this could ever happen to any of us. And it did. And when we thought it would
stop, it didn't. For some of us, it just keeps on coming. We're afraid this
might be more of it. But it really isn't. It's an opportunity; for us and for
those homeless out there that think nobody wants them and nobody cares.
3 comments:
God Bless you--I hope you are able to help them feel wanted and like someone cares. I'm praying for all of you in your area. But, your story about your family was entertaining! I wish you had more of an "about me" page or something. I'm trying to understand the whole premise behind your blog. What does "Homeless Chronicle in Tampa" mean? I guess I should read back farther!!
Michelle, Thank you so much for writing; I appreciate your stopping by and commenting. As I gain a wider readership, it will probably be necessary to fill out the "about me" section. I've shied away, because I don't want to come off all weepy and Lifetime Channely. I do apologize for not making it clear that I am no longer sans home. I still live in the area though, and am glad that I do. Stop by and visit again. We'll have tea. Mary
Michelle, Sorry to double-post like this. Google+ really, really hates me. Your pictures are absolutely stunning! I added you and I was still not able to comment. So, now you've had one of my patented Mary Confuse-an-App experiences.
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