For the last three months, I have worked like a mad woman with only one goal in mind, a new commercial sewing machine. My old one had waved the white flag by the end of last year and right now I do my ‘magic’ on a loaner machine I could borrow from one of my former students.
The other day a shoe ran by me -it had a puppy attached. The sliding glass door was open, it all happened so quickly. Still trying to wake up, I wasn’t fast enough, or perhaps I took my time, after all, it wasn’t my shoe.
February came and went, and I didn’t do much. Quietly, I gave myself permission to be useless. COVID the II. came- lingered and knocked me out for four weeks.
“Don’t ever smoke,” that was the warning I got from my doctor when I was just a little girl. He had come on a house visit to our farm, I had been sent home sick with bronchitis -again. Ever since I can remember, I came down with a severe upper respiratory infection and/or bronchitis at least once a year. Three times that I know off, it turned into pneumonia.
Santa, in his infinite wisdom, decided to bring me a battery-operated, cordless snow shovel for Christmas.
Santa, who, as you know, I happen to sleep with, sat in his chair and watched me unpack. He grinned from one ear to the other, like he had just won the lottery. I believe in being grateful. One doesn’t complain about a present ever -you return later, after the Holidays- but a cordless, battery-operated snowblower? Seriously?
…So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn’t sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
The next time you see a homeless person on the streets remember me, please. As vulnerable as I come across writing about the time when we were houseless, they all feel the same way. Everybody has a story. Now, let’s continue mine.
In October 2009, during a time when the American economy took a nosedive, and people were being laid off by thousands and thousands every day, we lost everything. Our home, our jobs, our friends, and ultimately the city we had lived in for so many years.
One of the rare occasions I will show myself. Banged up knee, no front teeth, one of Grandma’s ridiculous haircuts, yet the boy on my side could not resist my charm and became my boyfriend for one summer.
She is gone. The house is empty; a shiny red realtor’s sign is placed in the yard. She left unnoticed, the neighbors didn’t give her a farewell; no cards or well wishes were exchanged. She lived in this neighborhood for 25 years; everybody knew her, but nobody felt close to her.