Homelessness Has a Voice

In July of last year I wrote a blog post called “Homelessness Has a Name” about a homeless couple I met in downtown Newhall. During recent years I have been drawn to the subject of homelessness and just don’t know what to do to help. I was happy to meet and talk to people who are trying to survive without the basics that we all take for granted. I was happy to know their names.

This post is about the voice of homelessness    ~  A voice that seldom speaks, and resides in a body yearning for conversation.

Kalani – In Hawaiian means “the heavens”

I recently spent three weeks in Hawaii.  My husband is working there for about four months, so I go to visit.  His housing is in Waikiki about four blocks off the main street.  The main street downtown is where quite a few homeless people stay.  Some asking for help, some not, but visible, and many times in pairs or groups. 

A couple of times a day I would walk past a corner near the hotel that housed a bus stop…and a person.  It was a pretty busy corner with tourists and residents coming and going from the bus, and people hustling through the crosswalk like is common in the city.  Also on this corner is a concrete bench.  Probably big enough for three people to sit, but this bench wasn’t used by those waiting for a bus, it is someone’s daily perch, and home. For about my first five days there, I watched the person sitting on the bench surrounded by a pile of worldly possessions. Of the many, many homeless people living in the city, a large percentage have mental illness or some type of substance abuse.  I continued to watch and didn’t see any clues that lead me to believe that this person was a danger.  I think what a lot of people tend to not realize about the homeless is that many of them are people just like you and me who for some reason or another are down on their luck. Day in day out, I never saw anyone stop to talk or even say hello.  I decided that I wanted to say something; anything to this person who I thought must be so incredibly lonely. 

I am aware of the possible dangers of approaching someone on the street. On the news that week there had been two attacks by homeless persons. One who thought a storeowner was a vampire, and another occurred when a homeless person attacked a woman waiting for a bus for no apparent reason, causing her some slight physical injury and definite emotional anguish.

I decided to say hello and try to engage in a small conversation. I asked Bill to go with me and just be close in case something came up and I needed help. I was nervous and unsure of myself, but it was important to me.  Hello.  And that’s how it started. During the next two and one-half weeks I would stop numerous times. Her name is Kalani. In Hawaiian it means “the heavens,” such a beautiful name for a person who never gets to tell anyone what it is.  During our second conversation I asked if she needed anything. She said it was just nice to have someone to talk to.  Wow.  My heart crumbled at those words.

We yap and talk and interact all day, sometimes its meaningful, sometimes its just words flying out and maybe striking someone as important, or maybe not, and we don’t think anything of it.  Just nice to have someone to talk to.  I can do that.  This month is six years that she has been homeless.  She has a family, but as she said, they “don’t see eye-to-eye.”  She was born and raised there, and prefers to lay low and not be on one of the busy streets of the city.  I never smelled alcohol or saw any glimpse of mental illness.  We had some laughs, talked about different things to do on the island, and other small talk topics. I asked a few times if there was anything I could get her to make things a little easier. The only thing she said she could use that would be nice, was a new backpack.  I did bring her a couple things over the weeks, nothing major, just little things to help. I gave her a couple dollars here and there, never a lot, and she was very grateful.  Before I left, I took her the backpack and a little bag of necessities.  I explained that I was going home and that I would see her soon.  It was difficult walking away from her.  I wanted to be able to call her, but she doesn’t have a phone.  I wanted to be able to write her, but she doesn’t have an address.  I wanted to be able to help her, but I’m at a loss at what to do. 

Bill tells me what he sees her doing,; always sitting or laying on that bench.  He has heard her talking to herself quite a few times, but if you were the only person you had to talk to – well, its understandable.  I worry about her and am glad he keeps an eye out when he can.

A few weeks after I left, Bill told me that he had stopped to talk to her.  He asked how she was doing and told her that I asked him to tell her “hi” for me.  I didn’t.  He did that all on his own.  I can’t tell you how much that gesture meant to me.  If it’s possible to fall more in love in a minute, then I think I did.  I’m so happy that he understands and supports the things that mean so much to me.

I’m going back soon and am looking forward to sitting and talking with her.  I wonder about her family, and how this happened to them.  I worry about her and her loneliness.  The loneliness I think worries me more than the homelessness.  It’s the people in our lives who make life worth living, not the things.  I so wish that she had people.  I think about her often.  I have so many questions, but those aren’t for me to ask.  If she offers, then I will listen as long as she wants.  I look forward to seeing her, and letting her use her voice.

  

 

Kalani opening the last bag of goodies I took her.  After she looked in she said, 
"What did you doooo?"

This is where she spends all of her time. In three weeks I never saw her spot empty. I hope that in the middle of the night she walks around and goes places.

This is the view of the bus stop and her belongs from across the street.  The people there come and go and look at her and then look away.  Its hard, I get it.  I have trouble looking most homeless people in the eyes also.  Whenever I stood or sat there to talk to her, I would usually get strange looks from the people at the bus stop.

 According to City and County of Honolulu Mayor's Office of Housing, as of January 24, 2016, 4,940 homeless individuals across the island were counted. Of 2,173 unsheltered homeless, 631 individuals suffer from severe mental illness, and 623 individuals have chronic substance abuse issues.  Oahu is only 44 miles long and 30 miles wide,  It’s a pretty small island.  Anyone who is or becomes homeless is basically stuck there.  The only option is to move from one part of the island to another. Hawaii has the highest homeless rate per capita in the nation, according to federal statistics.

Its Just a Potbelly Stove

It all started with the twist and pop of the cap.  The familiar and memory-inducing scent escaped that old can, and the memories flooded in.  The snapshots became visible in my brain. As I poured the thick liquid onto the soft, white cloth, more scenes from my childhood started playing on the movie screen that is always open for business in my head.

“Unlike the other senses, olfactory nerves go to two destinations in our brain; one is the frontal cortex, where we consciously recognize a scent. The second destination is the limbic area of the brain, which is a more primitive and ancient part of the brain dealing with emotion, motivation and types of memory.” Dr. Maggie Grotzinger.

We’ve all experienced it. It could be a flower, a food, a perfume, any one of thousands of smells that bring a memory into our heads and transport us back to that place, sometimes good and sometimes bad. Today, that smell for me was Brasso.  Oh yes, Brasso was a big smell in my house as a child.  My dad liked shiny things. He was always shining something up with the Brasso.  Here is the short list - barber chairs, spittoons, car bumpers, knobs and handles, old fire extinguishers, and the potbelly stove. The potbelly stove.  That’s what I intended to write about initially, or maybe it was the power of our sense of smell - oh well.  My mind is like the pachinko machine we used to have, little chrome balls bouncing from here to there and back again. Did he polish those little balls too?  Not that I remember, but I can see it happening. Anyways, back to the potbelly stove; that beautiful piece of décor that has adorned my dining room for well over 30 years that brings back so many great memories….

I’m selling it.

Yes, you read correctly.  I’m selling it. But I just wrote all those great things about the memories and happy times.  It fits my dining room like a glove and is a topic of conversation and beauty in the house. I’m selling it.

I appreciate it, I don’t love it.  It has served its purpose and the time has come for it to move to a house where the new owner loves it. 

Before my dad passed away, he did his best to help ease what he knew was going to be the hardest part of my life. He lived here during his last six months and we had a lot of great conversations.  Knowing he was leaving me with a mess of things, he talked a lot about my being able to let go and get rid of the things that belonged to him and my mom.  I listened of course, I always listened to what he had to say, but carrying through has been a whole other story.

Nearly seven years later, I still have a mess of things. I’m doing better with letting go, but it has taken me a very long time.  Enter – the potbelly stove. I kind of remember when we got it. I was maybe 10? 12? 15? Not sure.  I also kind of remember that he asked me to “go in on it” with him. Now I’m not really sure why.  I’m guessing it was some sort of lesson in investing or partnership or something, or maybe he just didn’t have enough money.  There is no way to ever find out.  So, one way or another, either through inheritance, because it was left here when they moved out in 1991, or I am the proud half-owner, the potbelly stove is mine, and I am ready to let it go.

I’m starting to let more and more things go.  Things my parents love, collected, and used.  Some are beautiful and have some monetary worth and some are simply just crap and I have no idea why I have continued to hang on to them.  But, it doesn’t really seem to matter which group the items are in, it is still difficult to let them go.

I’m grateful for my time with the old stove. I have my memories of smell and mental snapshots. Those I carry with me.  As my collection of material items becomes smaller, my mind and heart become more full.  I welcome the trade-off.

Want to buy a potbelly stove?

New View

Divided-lite.  Even the name suggests an unclear view.  Sometimes old, outdated views need to be replaced, and opened up to a clearer picture.

Windows? Yes.  Life?  Yes.

Part of our three-room remodel involves replacing 60-year-old windows.  The wooden, divided-lite windows that are currently in the house look great when you drive down the old, dirt road and glance toward the ranch-style home.  They blend, they fit, and they seem to be aesthetically pleasing.  Is that enough?  Am I o.k. with inefficient, outdated windows that restrict my view and cloud my vision?  No. Sure, 60 years ago they worked.  They don’t work now.  60 years ago that’s what people had, they didn’t have many choices and they were comfortable with them.  I want my vision to improve; I want my views to be as open and beautiful as possible. 

Windows?  Yes.  Life?  Yes.

Bill replaced the first window of the remodel yesterday.  The dining room window that looks beyond the crepe myrtle and toward to the yard, the little free library, and an old plaster building across the street.  I love looking through that window.  I see a lot of things I love when I look out there.  I’m used to it, I’ve been looking out that window for over 50 years.  A standard double-hung wood window, divided into eight parts by wood that has been painted over with many, many coats of paint; a screen on the outside restricting the clarity and taking away from the vivid and beautiful colors of the yard. The old glass is scratched, thin, and like the other windows in the house, has a slight wave to it, which adds some distortion.  In addition to the appearance of the old windows, they aren’t efficient.  They don’t work properly anymore.  They don’t fully open, some don’t open at all. They have been painted shut and the longer they (and we) remain comfortable with that stubbornness, cloudy vision, and inefficiency, the longer our beautiful visions will be blocked. 

Windows?  Yes.  Life?  Yes.

Its not always easy working on a remodel.  Sometimes it’s hard to let go of things that remind us of good times and how things used to be. Change can be difficult and scary.  Is the new better?  And what do we mean by better?  Is better about looks, efficiency, the new view we will have? Will the unknown make me happy or will I long to go back to what seemed to be comfortable even though it wasn’t the best. 

A new window.  A window divided only in to two parts, and then only because it needs those to parts to open fully and bring in lots of fresh air into the house.  Double-thick glass to keep the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter.  The new screen only covers the bottom half of the fully functioning window.  Why restrict the entire view when you can open your eyes to see more clearly?

The new window was installed with great care and precision. It looks great, it works well, and it is one more step in what will be a long process in remodeling.  Moving forward. That new window yesterday is not just a new window.  It kind of symbolizes how I’ve been feeling lately – wanting a clearer view, a new vision, one that will be more efficient and open me up to more beauty that the world has to offer.  Not every house can have all new windows.  Some need to work with the ones they have.  Fresh paint, maybe a little sand paper to smooth out rough edges, and sometimes the glass needs a lot of work to be able to see out clearly, but the view can always be improved.  I want to see it, and help open it up to others so that they may see it too.  No more divided-lites.

Windows?  Yes.  Life?  Yes.

“Better keep yourself clean and bright.  You are the window through which you must see the world.” 

~  George Bernard Shaw

I'm Writing a Book

Its 6:45 A.M. and my alarm has gone off for the second time today.  Its not because I’ve been hitting the snooze button since 5:30, its intentional.  I got up, set the alarm for an hour, and closed my eyes.

I just completed day four of a 90-day challenge – experiment – adventure, not really sure what the proper description would be, but I know it will be eye-opening. 

I’ve chosen to do three things every day for the next 90.  The first will be sitting quietly in meditation for one hour each morning.  An hour is a pretty long time.  You could get a cavity filled, watch two really dumb sitcoms, or get your film developed down at the drug store.

This new addition to my routine started on Sunday.  I know it’s going to be something that will open up my heart, sharpen my mind, and change my life.

Its interesting the sounds, smells, colors, light changes, thoughts, ideas, and memories that can be experienced by sitting uninterrupted with eyes closed for 60 minutes.

I will also be reading for 30 minutes each day, and writing for 30.  The reading part will be easiest for me.  Yes please, sitting and reading – sign me up.

The writing.  The writing is what I hope this new daily habit will open myself up to.  (Apparently its already working because I just finished my hour of meditation as I write this J.)

You see, I’m writing a book. There.  I said it.  I’m writing a book.  I am at a point in my book where I have encountered writers-block.  No, I haven’t gotten stumped on how to end the story, haven’t lost track of the character in the middle and aren’t sure which direction to turn next.  I haven’t written a single word.  That’s how blocked I am.  I have been “writing” this book of mine for years, but haven’t scribed a single word.  Boy, that really sounds ridiculous.  Its kind of like saying you’re running a marathon, but haven’t bought any running shoes and only own cowboy boots, or that you are going to make the world’s biggest afghan and don’t know how to knit, and haven’t figured out where to buy yarn.  Yes, that ridiculous.  What have I been doing?  Or more accurately, what have I NOT been doing?!  I have had countless people encourage me to write a book, some have offered such strong encouragement that maybe the word could be encourageTHREAT instead. 

I have every book-writing necessity there is.  I own an endless supply of yellow legal pads, ink pens from every business in Newhall, books on how to write books, books on how to find books on how to write books, books on why books on how to write don’t work, numerous desks in my house, a nice computer with the display set at 200% so I can see what I’m typing, Costa Rican coffee and inspirational coffee mugs galore.  Yes, I’m set up and ready to go.  Ready, set, screech….   At least that’s how it has been.  I’ve been blocking myself with every “ya but” there is. THE BUT STOPS HERE.  (ha! Get it? The but stops here?)

Everyone who wrote their first book didn’t know how ~ Kyle Cease

I’m taking steps, one step at a time. This 90-day adventure will be a great tool to open up my creativity.  I’m going to start each day with my heart and let the words flow.  Stay tuned….

Peaceful, Happy, Beautiful

Recently, a friend told me how great I look and asked if I had lost weight.  I had seen he and his wife a couple of weeks earlier also, and he told me that after Bill and I left their house, they commented on how good I was looking.  Interesting.  The fact is, I have gained weight, not a lot, but enough that it seems obvious that the weight is up not down. I also have not had my hair colored in quite a while.  Lets just say that my current hair color is well on its way to making it a great idea for me to be a skunk for Halloween this year.  Also, my dermatologist went on a freezing frenzy on me, leaving some scabbing and scarring on my face and ear. So, really, it’s a perfect storm of not-my-best look. So how on Earth could they think that I was looking great?

 It got me thinking about a dear friend who has recently gone through a beautiful transformation of her look.  And no, she has not done a single thing cosmetically.  My friend, Keri, has had a tough couple of years…no, she has had a tough decade. Actually, decade-plus.  Her husband passed away in May of 2015 after a lengthy battle with ALS.  She was wife, caregiver, mother, handyman, breadwinner, and anything else she needed to be to get through the day.  Six months after Jon’s death, her house was broken into, ransacked, and burglarized. She wasn’t able to go back to the house and was fortunate to have a wonderful friend welcome her into her home for nearly a year..  Her stress level had been through the roof for years.  She faced sadness, uncertainty, lack of sleep, and any other emotion you could think to insert.

Keri is a beautiful woman, and no one has a bigger, more giving heart than she does.  She has always generated love, but it has been just this past couple of months that I have seen her outside beauty glow and radiate.  Every time I see her I feel as if she is wearing a crown of sparkling stars.  Her smile lights up a room and her laugh; oh that laugh of hers. People want to be around her.  This beauty is not new to her, but reborn; a new birthday if you will.  I don't think its any coincidence that last week at a restaurant, after a funny mix-up about bread pudding (long story) the waiter brought Keri a birthday cupcake. Nope, not her real birthday, but definitely a birthday - a new day.  Just more proof that the Universe sees her transformation also, and is reminding us all that it will be o.k. and there will be light after the darkness. The lack of stress has taken years off of her appearance. The heartache, though it will always be there, has lessoned and joy has been coming back into her life – and it shows. 

Her face now looks relaxed and shines brightly.  She exudes peace and a sense of fun and playfulness.  It makes me happy to see her beautiful transformation. 

My mom passed away eight years ago Monday, and my dad 14 months later. Since that time I have been struggling to have my full life back. Without going into eight years of detail, lets just fast forward to the last couple of years when I have been making a conscious effort to be more peaceful, happier, and fulfilled. I have had counseling, taken workshops, gone to an herbalist, started using essential oils, used meditation, been surrounded by enormous amounts of love by friends and family, traveled, gardened, read, used creativity, and studied new types of spirituality.  It sounds exhausting, but it’s working, and I have enjoyed the journey.  I have recently felt so much better. I feel more open, more peaceful, and happier...thank goodness. My life is amazing and I love the space I’m in right now. My insides are feeling pretty darn good, and if that is showing on the outside, well then what a bonus.

I realize now that what my friends perceived as my weight-loss is also a bit of my own transformation. I think Keri and I are exhibiting some symptoms of inner peace.   

	Symptoms of Inner Peace   ~     Saskia Davis These are some of the most common symptoms of 'inner peace'... if you are       experiencing any or all of these symptoms.... you're doing something right! - A tendency to think and act spontaneously rather than on fears based on past experiences. - An unmistakable ability to enjoy each moment. - A loss of interest in judging other people. - A loss of interest in interpreting the actions of others. - A loss of interest in conflict. - A loss of the ability to worry. - Frequent, overwhelming episodes of appreciation. - Contented feelings of connectedness with others and nature. - Frequent attacks of smiling. - An increased susceptibility to the love extended by others as well as the uncontrollable urge to extend it.