He gave permission to be photographed. I have no images of him. So I ask. And this morning it is a yes...

Dear Anonymous,

He gave permission to be photographed. I have no images of him. So I ask. And this morning it is a yes, '...but nobody else. I hate haven' my picture taken.'
I hear you.
And I was honored.Your eyes tell me a story I have no words for.
Coffee cards. Socks. And never enough Blueberry Cake.
Picking up a hand knit neck warmer (thank you Dear Anonymous!) or exchanging coats for a better size, grabbing an extra layer. Do you have any pants? I never have enough. Telling me what was stolen or lost in the last two days. What backpacks have broken. Some arrive every morning with less than yesterday. Some packs are found and they report to me that they find them left somewhere else,abandoned here and there. I'll never know the whole story. I've learned, it is often not what I assume.
Coffee cards. Socks. And good morning to you too.

This is the street....

Dear Anonymous,
This is the street. The arrays of issues are immense. Sometimes I can guess. Sometimes I can know. But all I know for sure is that some of the people in my life who currently shine brilliantly into this world, at one time, also hid. And when they weren't hiding they were spitting mad. And couldn't stand being in their own skin. And were wretched. The ones who shine today with a brilliant soulful light in the world identify with images like this and point and say 'Yes, I remember. That was me.' These young men who are beautiful and clear eyed and contributing members of our community look and say 'Yes, this was me.' And they say it with empathy.
Empathy for the person in the image. Empathy for themselves. And sometimes they shake their own heads wondering how they ever made it out alive. But they did.
So how can I not see their beauty here too?

He shares a bit about himself. Where he's from. How he got here. His story.

He shares a bit about himself. Where he's from. How he got here. His story.
He eyes the wool blankets in my car and happy to say he walks home with them.
'I sleep on a couch. It's cold.'
Thank you dear Anonymous. You will keep him warm.
He knows the streets and all the players and all the stories and all the outcomes and all the possibilities.
#streetspeaks
What. A. Sweet. Heart.

'I have a relation who don't have enough clothes.'

Dear Anonymous,
'I have a relation who don't have enough clothes.'
It's a young girl and he leaves with a couple of backpacks
( thank you #maggiesmission) and fleece vests and shirts and blankets (thank you Dear Anonymous).
He asks 'Why do these young girls out here wanna be with these guys?They don't treat 'em right...', glancing in the direction he saw a man fighting with a young woman,afraid he was about to hit her.
Thank you Dear Anonymous. The packs, the clothing and the coffee cards find homes.

Gearing up. Switching out backpacks. Broken backpacks replaced. Organizing stuff. And coffee and a piece of cake.

Dear Anonymous,
Gearing up. Switching out backpacks. Broken backpacks replaced. Organizing stuff. And coffee and a piece of cake.
And all he says this morning as he arrives in the dark before dawn, looking up at me leaning, over balancing his pack,
'I'm still trying to get home.'
Damn.
I'm still. Trying to get home.
And a little something buckles inside me. A minuscule thread chaffs just a bit. Plucked. Makes a sound short of a minor key.

We are all looking to find our way home.

Here's some socks along the way. A set of foot warmers. A hoodie.

This photo was framed just a second before the one I recently posted that shows everyone smiling.

Dear Anonymous,
This photo was framed just a second before the one I recently posted that shows everyone smiling. Which was the truth in that moment. But this image shows truth too.
A woman showing one my images, an image of a man who turns out to be her cousin David, who struggled living on the street and died recently.
Somehow in her face I see the families of folks who have family members out here. Sometimes unreachable. Irretrievable.
It shows Charles, who knows everyone on the street, recognizing that he too knew David. And that David is dead.
There's lots of loss out here. Lots of pain. Lots of carrying on whether it's with a trudging step, a shuffle or a step after falling. Sometimes it's the sound of someone dragging themselves along the bricks.
But it's life. And it's love. And it's not knowing what to do. And what DO we do when we don't know what to do?

A Dear Anonymous in the flesh, our friend Robin, shows up this morning...

Dear Anonymous ,
A Dear Anonymous in the flesh, our friend Robin, shows up this morning with food, blankets, some clothing and big bags of toys for Mike to share up at the Family Shelter, or with families he knows that could use a lift for their kids.
Hard to tell who was happier and who was gonna have the most fun. The giver. The distributor. Or the kids. It's a win-win-win and he cannot wait.
The conversation turns to more difficult subjects like men who have been sexually abused as children. About how that can manifest into violence and other truly difficult behaviors. It turns toward the damage people can do to one another, particularly to children. And it continued into the injustices connected to some of the lives of those who have been abused. To the pain. And to the very difficult practice of 'doing the right thing'.
Mike is going to walk around the corner with me because a friend is sleeping there. 'But, you ain't goin' alone. That guy who stabbed my arm last year is sleepin' there too.'
I don't need to be the one to deliver the card. I hand him two.
He pauses looking at the card then lifts his eyes to mine,
'Ya' mean for THAT guy too?'
He smiles.
' I get it. What are we supposeed to do....?'

 — with Robin Lynn Herrick.

Coffee cards, coffee cake, socks, more coffee cards, more socks ,backpacks, pants and hats and gloves and a sleeping bag and blankets took flight today.

Dear Anonymous,
Coffee cards, coffee cake, socks, more coffee cards, more socks ,backpacks, pants and hats and gloves and a sleeping bag and blankets took flight today. And near the end of the morning gathering he stops by with a big smile.
Shows me the backpack he has had since he received it here from Dear Anonymous in November #maggiesmission. Wanted to make sure I took note he was still using it.
Photo with permission. Even took his hat off for a moment.

Then a woman trudges by. Small in frame. Looks cold.Hood up. No eye contact.
In a moment the guys sort of indicate it's ok and she comes over and we chat.
She's tender. And cold. And we get her set up with a coat and a vest. 'Can't put it on now, got no bra on.' and raises her eyes to the group of guys a few yards away from us.
'All my stuff is in my boyfriend's car.'
She is walking vulnerability.
Fill her bag with handwarmers and foot warmers and socks and toiletries.
Something about her boyfriend locking her out of his car where all her gear is.
Something from me about careful hangin' with folks that lock you out. Once said I wished I could rush out, collect those words and toss them to the ocean before they arrive at her ears.
'But I love him.' And she cries. Her nose is red. Her coat insufficient. Her boots wet.
She is grateful for the resources and a hot cup of coffee.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.

Charles, a lovely man we set up today with backpacks and handwarmers to distribute to the kids he finds on the streets.

Dear Anonymous,
Charles, a lovely man we set up today with backpacks and handwarmers to distribute to the kids he finds on the streets. He buys pencils and notebooks and puts them inside the packs for them. 'I don't know what else to do.' he says.
And this is Robin, a woman who arrived with food and blankets and more.
I only met Robin this year. She has had a lifelong career in social services.
She is holding an image of mine of her cousin David who I knew as a worker down on Custom House Wharf.
Come to find out we ALL knew him out on the street. Everyone nodding, yes, we know him. He was part of this street community. He died a couple of years ago.
This image floated up in Facebook's memory this past fall via a Facebook friend connection and Robin identified it as her family member and we connected.
On a little patch of dirty pavement she opens the envelope to see her cousin.There may have been a few tears. And the guys out here on the street realize they all knew him and that he's gone. A brief street memorial. With few words.
Connection.
Connection.
Connection.

 — with Robin Lynn Herrick.

A crowd this morning. And we laughed at how it felt like Trick-or-Treat.

Dear Anonymous,
A crowd this morning. And we laughed at how it felt like Trick-or-Treat. Long on the treats I'm happy to report.
Someone was disgruntled that so-and-so got a coffee card and 'he don't deserve it.'
Afterwards, after coffee cards are dispersed, socks find new homes, hand warmers are stuffed into pockets, gloves and pants are rifled through, I ask just a few,
What shall we do? Set up a table. With someone with a clipboard. And do extensive interviews to determine deservedness?'
Nah.
Not gonna happen.

Socks. Coffee cards and the connection to community.I am grateful for smiles this morning. There's always gratitude expressed. There is also pain and desperation expressed. Theirs. Mine. Ours.
Coffee cards and socks. Thank you Dear Anonymous, thank you.
And whoever left bags of socks at my door, thank you. Much appreciated and already distributed.

Almost a cheeriness out here this morning. Despite the snowfall. And despite the cold.

Dear Anonymous,
Almost a cheeriness out here this morning. Despite the snowfall. And despite the cold. Mike has a job shoveling the sidewalk in front of a couple stores and quickly cuts a path, with chivalry, for me to walk from the street to the coffee shop door.
Sometimes it feels like a flock of hungry seagulls following. That Blueberry Coffee cake. These socks. Those coffee cards. Pants are flying out of the boxes and handwarmers too. This morning there is a general good cheer. Some of the guys don't ask for additional socks; they're all set from yesterday. Many are wearing the pants from yesterday.
This morning there is a sweetness. A less than desperate pathos to the morning. I cannot explain why.
In my imagination 'The Lost Boys' are comfy having breakfast and no one seems openly at odds with another. In this moment.

And the dear man inside clutching the side of his face is struggling. They all know him. He struggles with the government, and aliens, and agencies trying to access his mind. I can't imagine how terrifying it must feel for him.
But there are socks. And a coffee card.
And the sun rises despite it all.

And then there's this. A beautiful donation from someone half a nation away...

Dear Anonymous,
And then there's this. A beautiful donation from someone half a nation away who routinely contributes to offer coffee cards to folks on the streets of Portland, Maine ...and she mirrors back the words tattooed in my heart.
In. It. Together.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.

It is just about zero. No wind, thank god.

Dear Anonymous,

It is just about zero. No wind, thank god. And the footwarmers dropped off yesterday are a hit. I gaze down at the man wearing sneakers. The thermal socks along with these foot warmer insoles may get him through the day. Pants and socks and coffee cards. I found some compression tights on sale, an extra layer to help....some thermal shirts. Big, thick socks are just glorious to be able to hand out this morning.
Mike tells me he was out last night and a guy he was with was crying it was so cold. Crying. And this is as I am handing stuff out, which I cannot continue doing because my hands are pounding with pain from the cold. I would be that crying man. I would be raging for dawn to arrive and deliver enough warmth to deliver me from my pain. The cold would ruin me.
If you take a look at temperature it tends to drop to it's lowest just before dawn, which is when I am here. And it is a last straw sensation. Not too much chatter, it's just too cold. Everyone is working too hard to just be warm enough. They grab socks and a card and whatever and race in for a cup of hot coffee.

A couple of years ago this man had just said to me...

Dear Anonymous,
A couple of years ago this man had just said to me,
'I'm not on the streets because I drink. I drink because I'm on the streets...'
And I think about this cold night as I hunker down under my down comforter. Inside. Relatively safe.
And then I note that someone has just delivered a big bag of much needed hand and feet warmers. I don't even know who it was yet. And some backpacks. And some clothing and warm merino wool socks. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
And just when I think that giving socks out by the dozens is futile, we recieve this message from someone who used to be out there. Out here. On the streets. And he made it through. And is now living a generous life of gratitude.
He wrote this about his experience of receiving a pair of socks while living on the streets:
'Find a dry place to change them.
Smile a bitter smile, and let your heart break again.
But it is the combined efforts of sock-givers, people-feeders and shelter providers that allow this life to persist. A chance to go to sleep that night, and say "maybe it will get better tomorrow"
Sometimes it does.
For me it did. I will never forget the kindness and i will never forget to pay it forward.'
So on a very cold night when I worry about our friends out here I want to thank you all for your generosity.
Tomorrow there shall be socks. And coffee. And hand warmers.
Broken hearts and all. 

I remember this day.

Dear Anonymous,
I remember this day. Late fall 2016 and I was new to MaineWorks and totally stunned by the people I was meeting there and with their journeys.This is where street sometimes crosses over with Maineworks.
He was a new employee. His life was up for grabs. He was cold. He was given a coat. He was warmer. And I remember his eyes and his smile. The following words are his:

" Precious, precious life. Yes, sometimes even life itself NEEDS a pair of socks. To many, a sock is just another insignificant, dispensable piece of fabric floating around underneath their bed or around their house.. But to a person living outside, a pair of socks can mean the world and so much more. Even a tiny taste of coveted safety or comfort. Warmth and dryness.... Just a taste.
So we dont forget what it feels like to be alright.
Find a dry place to change them.
Smile a bitter smile, and let your heart break again.
But it is the combined efforts of sock-givers, people-feeders and shelter providers that allow this life to persist. A chance to go to sleep that night, and say "maybe it will get better tomorrow"
Sometimes it does.
For me it did. I will never forget the kindness and i will never forget to pay it forward."
Amen, my Pioneer of Recovery. Amen and Lead the Way.

One of you Dear Anonymous's dropped off this beautiful scarf...

Dear Anonymous,
One of you Dear Anonymous's dropped off this beautiful scarf, a perfect match for Mike's outfit today.
This morning there were so many who stopped by. There's never enough coffee cards and socks but think we covered at least everybody who came by. Alot of gratitude and
thank yous which I extend to all of you. And a lot of dispirited folks looking shell shocked and dumbstruck. Each with a story and a gaping series of wounds. Kicked out of here or there. Wandering with a garbage bag filled with their belongings. Some who have been beat up on the streets for defending someone and winding up in the hospital for a week. Old timers living on the street. Alcohol. Brain injuries.
'Something not quite right with him.' they say.
One young man has a bag of tobacco and sets up shop rolling cigarettes for a few guys before walking on. Another tells me the coffee card I handed him last week was not activated and I felt awful.
He said 'I appreciated it though.' with a meek smile. Damn.

And if I am busy enough staying in a place of love...

Dear Anonymous,
And if I am busy enough staying in a place of love, there is no disappointment or resentment or judgement. If I can do this for a fraction of a second even, it is a good day.

I had only seen him with hat and hood up. Then. He let his hair down.

I have a necklace that I collect all the little charms that have been gifted to me. This man, who knows the streets well, gave me a little pendant he found. An enamel pendant. It has an image of a lotus blossom on it and though he may not have been familiar with the imagery we both laughed and smiled when I referred to the symbolism attached to it. Of a beautiful flower blossoming but only because it is rooted in the mud. From the mud and mess and muck a beautiful flower can blossom. ‘Right on.’, he said. ’Right on.’

Today it was so wet everyone went inside to get a coffee.

Dear Anonymous,
Today it was so wet everyone went inside to get a coffee. All seemed quiet enough. Not always the case. Today everyone seemed subdued. Most often for me it is a simple task of handing out coffee cards you have provided. Or socks. And the sought after Blueberry Coffeecake.
The river I walk into though each morning is an ever changing constantly contradictory turbulence of stories and rumors and defensive postures... and I can struggle to sort through truth from fiction, lines of defense, attacks, constant transferential tsunamis and more. So I choose the advice of someone who wrote something like: Get so busy loving someone you no longer have time for the disappointment, or any other form of judgement. Amen. Sunday morning service.

Sweet man. Asks to be photographed, and all we need to do is move him into the light.

Dear Anonymous,
Sweet man. Asks to be photographed, and all we need to do is move him into the light.
Still in his apartment. Still happy about that.