Dear Anonymous,
It's hovering at zero degrees and my hands are pounding with pain. And all around me are smiles like this one from Charles. The whiskers around his mouth all frozen. Robin Lynn Herrick has arrived with a generous car load of resources at 6 AM on a Sunday morning and she is beaming and chatting with the guys. The guys out here who have been walking the streets since midnight are smiling. Concerned about my hands. And read that again. They are worried about MY hands. Good fckn' grief...they are out in this with little reprieve and I can barely tolerate it for moments at a time.
These coffee cards are divine. Warmth in the hand. Warmth in the belly. For at least a moment. Thick socks. A piece of coffee cake and a muffin. A new deodorant stick or a toothbrush. Little tiny graces. How often do they say 'This is a life saver.'? They say it often. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Coffee cards tumble out over socks over a pair of warm pants or an extra layer. A hoodie. A jacket. The currency of connection.
Cold out there this morning and Mike was so happy with the handknit hat from a Dear Anonymous in Massachusetts.
Dear Anonymous,
Cold out there this morning and Mike was so happy with the handknit hat from a Dear Anonymous in Massachusetts. And the coats and hoodies and heavy shirts all flew out of the car. Backpacks always appreciated. If it's not because they are stolen it's because they break down easily with street use. Socks were sought after, thick, warm, thermal socks and that hot cup of coffee made all the difference to many. Hands wrapped around big steaming cups like a prayer.
Like a mudra.
And Mike beamed when he took a big bag of toys headed up to the family shelter. I'm pretty sure he gets the most out of the equation and he was excited once again like it was Christmas morning. He takes a couple of backpacks filled with kids mittens, hats and another with women's clothing. Thanks Dear Anonymous.
There were many thank you's this morning. And on a tough day when it's cold as hell and you're struggling to be warm and find a place to land for a moment before you are shooed on, the time and attention to offer that thank you is noted.I want to make sure all you who contribute recieve those thank you's.
One cup of coffee at a time.One pair of socks. The currency of connection.
Justin Downey preparing for a cold water swim in Maine ( 17 degrees F)...
Justin Downey preparing for a cold water swim in Maine ( 17 degrees F) and being interviewed by Sternman Productions at Falmouth Town Landing for an upcoming documentary of MAINEWORKS.
Remember that day in February when the trees were covered in ice and I went for a swim?
Remember that day in February when the trees were covered in ice and I went for a swim? Yeah, me neither. But Justin Downey nailed it. Approximately 16 degrees. Falmouth Town Landing. I hesitate longer getting in the water in August than he did this morning.
Know that somewhere in the world, there is a man that shows up every afternoon with his dogs and makes the world smile.
Know that somewhere in the world, there is a man that shows up every afternoon with his dogs and makes the world smile.
Youth Group raising money in the Plaza Santa Domingo.
Youth Group raising money in the Plaza Santa Domingo.
Wedding Performers
Wedding Performers
Wedding Performers
Wedding Performers
Performer Inside the Wedding Puppet but then it looked like something else.
Performer Inside the Wedding Puppet but then it looked like something else.
The Fortune Teller
The Fortune Teller
Wedding Performers outside the Cathedral.
Wedding Performers outside the Cathedral. When the newly married couple exits the private service and steps into the street they will be greeted by the dancing performers, giant puppets and a brass band, at which point everyone in the vicinity temporarily becomes a guest to cheer the newlyweds. The couple and their invited guests promenade down the street accompanied by music and celebratory shots of tequila.
She wanted the bag I carried. I wanted a chance to see her. We struck a deal.
She wanted the bag I carried. I wanted a chance to see her. We struck a deal.
So, THIS is what recovery can look like.
So, THIS is what recovery can look like. Through the loss and pain can emerge THIS. A life worth living. Thank you MaineWorks employee Reilly Lombardi for what you bring to our world.
Quinceaño Preliminaries
Quinceaño Preliminaries
He can play that guitar just so it lights up the street.
He can play that guitar just so it lights up the street.
Boda Performer, Oaxaca, Mexico.
Boda Performer, Oaxaca, Mexico.
Our Lady of the Calle.
I looked for her again this year in Oaxaca. Sleeping on cardboard on the cobblestone street by the Zocala. I couldn't find her for a few days and began to think the worst. And then there she was, sleeping in a chair stooped over with a blanket over her head. She seemed grateful, or appreciative of some food and some pesos but I handed her a photograph of herself from last year and she smiled. Then she laughed and laughed and I could hear the little muchacha she still is inside.
Our Lady of the Calle.
Hunger on the streets. It's not that there are not sufficient social services providing food. Not my point here nor my expertise....
Dear Anonymous,
Hunger on the streets. It's not that there are not sufficient social services providing food. Not my point here nor my expertise.
I am talking hunger. For homemade. Made from scratch. Watched men just out of prison swoon to the flavor of real butter. Holding their wax paper cradle of cake or muffin like a sacrament.
Maybe it is a hunger for what may feel like home to some. Maybe a flavor of deinstitutionalized nourishment.
Always, always 'Is there more?'
Always. Always the eternal insatiable hunger.
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?