Dear Anonymous,
It's a wonky world and the street this morning reflected the wonkiness. An overdose by a young man I don't know well. He survived. The police none too happy when I tried to see who it was. I can say they did great job at securing his privacy and anonymity, maybe less a great job at public relations.
The Reader, a man we know out here living on the streets who is also a voracious reader, had his bicycle hit by a truck when it was parked and locked at a telephone pole. Super glad he wasn’t ON it.
Everybody a bit edgy.
Coffee cards and loving admonishments 'to wash your hands.'
They are doing elbow taps and not handshakes.
The virus another stressor. ANOTHER inconvenience. ANOTHER thing to deal with.
And still there was love. Each of them signing off this morning with 'Love ya'.'
That hasn't been cancelled.
A smile like this. Bigger than anything that has happened to her out here.
Dear Anonymous,
A smile like this. Bigger than anything that has happened to her out here. And more beautiful. Don’t know how she does it.
Thank you Dear Anonymous, for not looking away. For sharing a resource. For helping to carve a moment in a tough day where things are likely not going to go well where things are ok for a fragile moment.
Her Painters' Hands
Her Painters' Hands
Any artist I know will likely see these hands and smile a smile of some sort of satisfaction.
Dear Anonymous,
Any artist I know will likely see these hands and smile a smile of some sort of satisfaction.
She is once again without anything. Everything lost. Everything stolen. Has court in a couple of hours and is freezing but she is smiling.
Her hands covered in paint, her eyes wild with excitement .
'I'm painting! We're working on a mural! Hope they don't steal our supplies...we're usin' anything we can find. Chalk, paint, pastels.'
She is animated and her face shines, her eyes twinkle as she describes talking about the images of waves and water and flowers in a beautiful interpretive dance on the city sidewalk.
She gathers a couple pair of pants (thank you Dear Anonymous) a clean shirt and a coffee card to settle herself before court.
But she can't wait to get back to that wall.
The creative spirit needing to be fed.
A customer at the coffee shop, a regular, says to Mike, 'I know the solution to homelessness. A pine box.'
Dear Anonymous,
A customer at the coffee shop, a regular, says to Mike,
'I know the solution to homelessness.
A pine box.'
I imagine being on the sidewalk and being told the solution to my problem is my death.
Another regular customer walks over to my car and quietly hands me $100 with no fanfare for coffee cards and thanks Dear Anonymous. Thank YOU Dear Anonymous.
Meanwhile Mike was offered a job too good to be true yesterday and is trying to gauge his excitement against the risk of disappointment.
Knowing that something that seems too good to be true is often too good to be true.
His hat today gets my attention. A hat with good boundaries.
A Dear Anonymous sent a box of hand warmers, and on this cold morning they were deeply appreciated. Thick warm socks were too. An additional layer of fleece, or a sweatshirt....maybe a clean pair of pants. A hot cup of coffee. A moment at least off the street to settle down. Quiet down. Thanks everyone.
She was so excited about a pair of pretty black boots. She had them stand between her feet the way a puppy might find refuge in the same pose.
Dear Anonymous,
She was so excited about a pair of pretty black boots. She had them stand between her feet the way a puppy might find refuge in the same pose. She lit up with the pretty colorful socks. A purple coat.
I think 'May your dreams come true. May you have pretty clothes. And your nails done. And make up. And a lovely haircut if these are the things that will help you live your life.'
Mike is telling us about distributing toys again up at the family shelter.
Dear Anonymous,
Mike is telling us about distributing toys again up at the family shelter.
'It got too GIMME GIMME so I stopped and came back a bit later. Told the kids and the parents that it was gonna be 'PLEASE' and 'THANK YOU'. But it's hard. Everyone wants something and I only got so much.'
And that, he says, is echoed out here. And I agree. There is never enough. There is always the voice of MORE and I NEED and GIMME. Always the reality that this particular resource could dry up overnight.
This morning, though, I also hear the voices of appreciation. Of gratitude. Of relief.
Thank you. Those that have recently donated clothing and jackets and backpacks please know that it has all found homes out here.
She's not much for wanting to be photographed. But today she is.
Dear Anonymous,
She's not much for wanting to be photographed. But today she is. It's her one year anniversary of her housing in Portland.
We reminisce about life prior to that. The bitter cold. The tears. The carrying pounds and pounds of stuff in a pack, schlepping through the slush.
Mostly, I remember how miserable she was. Understandably so. Housing has been a good thing for her and I celebrate her achievement ( it has not all been easy ) and her ability to adapt to the changes/rules/regulations surrounding her housing. Something some cannot tolerate.
She has been able to navigate it.
No small achievement.
And for those that know Mike, she is his partner.
She was walking around with a little plastic shopping bag filled with stuff. Nothing else.
Dear Anonymous,
She was walking around with a little plastic shopping bag filled with stuff. Nothing else.
Everything stolen from the last batch. The coat. The clothes. And this is how it goes.
Everything was stolen.
'My backpack was stolen.'
'My bag was stolen.'
'They stole my phone.'
Over and over. And over.
Now she's a bit happier. Smiling. Laughing. Grateful for the clothing and a backpack. ( thank you #maggiesmission )
But one of you Dear Anonymous's responded to her last request for make-up. And when I handed it to her she lit up. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Dear Anonymous, thank you for the opportunity of connection.
Dear Anonymous,
Charles became aware that Robin, a not so anonymous Dear Anonymous, has recently experienced the death of her father.
Robin refers to Charles as her 'gnome'. And it is an affectionate nickname that Charles enjoys.
This morning he stayed close to her. As she distributed food, clothing and toys. Made it his mission to find a way to eventually make her laugh. To lighten her heart.
Tears may have been present too.
His companioning of an unspoken sorrow was tender. And sometimes all I can do is breathe and witness and watch the wonder.
He shares some of his family losses. To suicide. Overdose. Illness.
'They are always with us though.' and he gestures to the sky.
Dear Anonymous, thank you for the opportunity of connection.
Mike is stocked up this morning from donations we delivered...
Dear Anonymous,
Mike is stocked up this morning from donations we delivered
( thank you Robin Lynn Herrick and Dear Anonymous ) and ready to distribute the dolls, stuffed animals, legos, HotWheels, dolls and coloring books. It's challenging to hand them out with kids and parents so needy he says. Not everyone exhibits exemplar behavior. But he works it out.
And the arrival of the items never fails to illicit smiles from Mike. That inner kid shows up in him. And me too. We pick up each toy and ooooo and ahhhhh over them.
Another lovely man from the streets stops by to thank us for the fleece hats the two young ladies at Portland High School made for the community last month.
He smiles. A big warm, engaging smile and says
'It's my granddaughter's favorite hat. It's blue. She calls it her 'Smurf Hat'. Thank you....'
Those two girls were able to offer something to this man that he could gift to his grandchildren. He hasn't forgotten.
Thank you Dear Anonymous. Thank you.
The street was filled with laughter.
Dear Anonymous,
Robin, a Dear Anonymous, is offering a double stroller to Mike to use to transport items from here up to the shelter. It took four of us fussing and pulling and yanking with Robin finally figuring out how to open it. But it was the laughter that was so lovely. The street was filled with laughter. Smiles. Charles was buckled over watching the antics.
The street was full of laughter.
At 6 AM.
And that's different
And I wanted to just hold that moment which of course you cannot. The currency of connection looked like this.
Amen.
A not so Anonymous Dear, Robin Lynn Herrick visiting with us this morning at 6AM.
Dear Anonymous,
A not so Anonymous Dear, Robin Lynn Herrick visiting with us this morning at 6AM.
This was the response.
Just gonna let this image hang out here.
If you don't think you make a difference, please think again.
The currency of connection may have looked like donuts and shirts and some toys. But. That's an illusion.
Thank you Dear Anonymous. Thank you.
He delivers toys we gather to the family shelter. Largely, as he describes, an immigrant population...
Dear Anonymous,
He delivers toys we gather to the family shelter. Largely, as he describes, an immigrant population. Someone in the street population accuses him of being racist.
'You only give to THEM.'
He states 'I deliver to KIDS. I had a swastika tattoo the size of a fist on my chest for years. It's covered now with a heart. A BIG heart. I deliver to KIDS'.
He asks if it's okay to deliver to other groups by which he means non-immigrant populations. Of course, it's a decision he can make.
'I'll split them then.'
Mike has been open about his racist past. How it began. How it was cultivated. How it wounded him deeply. And how he changed. And what helps heal. He noted the irony of being labeled a 'racist' in this situation. But it shook him.
'I wanna help KIDS. Not black kids. Or white kids. Just KIDS.'
He tells me about the 13 and 14 year olds he finds sleeping here and there on the streets.
Dear Anonymous,
He tells me about the 13 and 14 year olds he finds sleeping here and there on the streets.
'It's ain't right.' he says.
He collects a bag of hats, socks, coats and a back pack or two to distribute. We add to his 'dress up' attire (he has shared he likes to dress on occasion ) with a pair of new lined denims and a new Dickies jacket. His smile is some kind of medicine for me. I ask if I may photograph him this morning and he says 'Long as you don't post it in the post office.' And we laugh.
Another man arrives with a bag of boots and sneakers he finds. Abandoned by folks for all sorts of reasons.
'Tried selling them but nobody's got any cash. They wanna' trade drugs. Not everybody wants drugs...'
and he holds up both hands, palms pushed outward toward me as if he is pushing something away; pushes his face back to the side.
My heart hurts. I know he's trying to stay sober (from heroin) out here. A tough job.
He offers the bag to distribute on the street.
March can be cruel in Maine.
Dear Anonymous,
March can be cruel in Maine. A warm day and we're all seduced with the idea of spring and the next day it's bitter cold. Nothing new about this but it feels mean spirited on the street.
Fleece lined pants were a hit as were lined jackets and an extra layer of chamois or flannel shirts.
'May I photograph you this morning?' and he responds by taking his sunglasses of and smiling.
A woman, not well dressed for the cold, is wandering up and down the street screaming a name over and over. Like one might call a lost dog. Forlorn. Desperate. Urgent. Like a foghorn. Something lost. Something in the dark.
A young man arrives with a pair of beautiful Nike shoes in hand. They are in great condition. Bright orange and yellow. They look like candy corn against the relative blue grey of the street. They sparkle. He looks at me and says, 'I'm gonna' find someone to give them to.'
I respond.
'I'm sure you'll make someone's day when you do that.'
He says,
'Like you do for us .'
I respond 'There's no better feeling.'
I only include this as a way to thank YOU.
Thank you Dear Anonymous. His response to me is for ALL of YOU.
Coffee cards. Socks. A clean t-shirt. Briefs and off he goes.
I notice as he says goodbye, under the hood of his jacket a hand knit hat I recognize from one of you. The muted gray blue yarn a perfect counterpoise to his clear, light blue eyes.
Thank you Dear Anonymous. Profoundly.
I start reading the scriptures in his eyes. The holy book of his face.
Dear Anonymous,
This is Charles again today. Told him my focus was off yesterday when I photographed him.
He says, 'Told you I'd break the camera.'
We laugh.
And though he has a place to live he spends much of his time on the streets collecting bottles and cans and distributing whatever he can find to others that may need it more.
He says to me in his sweet and wizened voice
'You know... we all the same. Black. White. From here. From there. Ain't no different in the eyes of god.'
and he lifts his eyes to the sky and points with his index finger above the gutters of the buildings.
And although I personally do not identify with a god in the sky I feel he/she is there as much as under our feet or scraped from our boots so I look at him and receive the gift of his words. I start reading the scriptures in his eyes. The holy book of his face.
He accepts the pair of new boots someone else has traded in for a coat. Says,' I like gettin' dressed up sometimes. I'll save 'em for that'.
And I think, I hope I get to see Charles dressed up someday.
Thank you's fly too, like spirited feathered things taking flight and then disappearing into the sky. Free at last.
Dear Anonymous,
When I first arrive on the street this morning it feels like it does when I enter a room where someone has had an argument. I can feel the tension. Something off kilter. I will leave not knowing the content but cannot shake the feeling.
First week of the month. Some that receive checks disappear temporarily. Get the refuge of a hotel room for a night or two. Perhaps, maybe, at times feed their addiction du jour. Others this morning are struggling with the aftermath of yesterdays drinking. They are kind but in pain.
Some wait for the coffeecake. I never have enough.
He has a mouthful in this image. Tells me he is looking at alternatives to the street and working on housing. He, like some others here, has a safe roof over his head at night presently, thank you Milestone Recovery.
Coffee cards and socks fly out of the car. A jacket here. A pair of boxers there. A hat.
Thank you's fly too, like spirited feathered things taking flight and then disappearing into the sky. Free at last.
He helps distribute the items that don't move.
Dear Anonymous,
He helps distribute the items that don't move. Coats that are rejected or passed by. Back packs for the young women on the streets. A few blankets for his relations as he refers to his extended family. A coffee card for his brother,
'He ain't doin' too good these days.'
This is Charles and he tells me his birthday is March 20.
'First day of Spring!' he laughs.
He's a new Maineworks employee. I knew I recognized him but I had never photographed him.
Dear Anonymous,
He's a new Maineworks employee.
I knew I recognized him but I had never photographed him. He walks over to me before the MaineWorks Circle and reminds me. There it is. I remember. I know him from the streets. My worlds intersect.
He thanks me, and in doing so thanks Dear Anonymous.
'You kept me alive. I was going to kill myself. Had a plan. But you'd give me a coffee card. Say good morning. I'd sit and have coffee and change my plan. Most mornings that's what made the difference...
I knew I was gonna die if I didn't climb out. I called a friend; got connected to a sober house and got some help with the first month rent which I didn't have. Then they recommended employment at MaineWorks and here I am.'
And he is. He looks great. If not tender and aware that he got out by the skin of his teeth and that his path is tremulous and vulnerable. But he did it. Against all odds. I ask him over and over, 'How did you do it?' How did you find the energy and resources to leap off the street with heroin and alcohol snarling like mad dogs at your heels? It's so difficult.
Ever wonder if a coffee card can save a life? Wonder no more.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.