It's not easy in my home. With a bathroom and running water and a kitchen and some food and internet.Imagine without.

Dear Anonymous,

Many of them are sleeping outside. During the day the ones that have temporary shelter at night often are having trouble finding a bathroom to use. Ones roaming the streets after 2 AM are even more suspicious to police. Their usual shelters for coffee are not available to congregate. Overall the mood is anxious. Short tempered.
Some of their community resources have had to close. Cut back.
Like trimming a penny that wasn't ever enough.
I see them briefly. Put on gloves and hand a card. I miss being able to put my hand on their sleeve. Or their shoulder. Or the occasional hug. All that not the way at the moment.
The socks and coffee cards remain urgent.
It's not easy in my home. With a bathroom and running water and a kitchen and some food and internet.
Imagine without.

He said something like this:

Dear Anonymous,

He said something like this: You can give up the alcohol. The drugs. The sex. The whatever. But if you don't let go of the ego...(and here he puts his hand up to his temple fingers gathered )........boom. (Hand gestures by flying to the side fingers splayed.)
Boom.

Love in the Time of Covid19.

Dear Anonymous,

In an informal way of accessing, meaning there's no science or data to my observation, it seems that it's not real clear out here about the virus. Handwashing hygiene is understood and shrugged off by many. Difficult to comply for many. City ordinances regarding gathering seem vaguely understood. Conspiracy theories abound. Incomplete information circulating. High drama and dismissal of risk...both evidenced.
Another threat. Another stress. Another difficulty. Rumor and policy mix and mash.
And I wonder how we help. Coffee card and socks handed out today at arms length with gloves, which felt right and awful and not enough.
Will continue as if I am a carrier which means I'll need to consider for a bit. Unchartered territory.
Love in the Time of Covid19.

How can I walk by without loving what will be?

Dear Anonymous,
Our friend Tyler showed up briefly yesterday morning. It's a difficult and uncertain time and that is not making the streets any more stable. I worry there will be many more out here before this is all over.
He smiles. Allows me to see him and I remember Alden Andrews commenting on photos of folks on the street on not so good days. He said 'THAT WAS ME.' remarking on his own mighty struggles.
Alden passed away tragically this weekend, the result of profound injuries from a hit and run accident.

After surviving heroin addiction.

That beautiful young man who rose like a phoenix from a pile of ashes was able to build a life with people he loved, in community, with his child and family. No more street.
That beautiful man related to another young man, miserable on the street and said 'THAT'S ME.' identifying in those words the spectrum of his own path.
So, how can I walk by without loving what will be?

Thank you Dear Anonymous.

Sometimes I feel like I am walking onto a Shakespearian performance during some late act in a play I don't really know the details of and didn't quite realize I'd be attending.

Dear Anonymous,
Sometimes I feel like I am walking onto a Shakespearian performance during some late act in a play I don't really know the details of and didn't quite realize I'd be attending.
There will tears. And tragic laughter. There will be love.
And loss.The great human dilemnas will make cameo appearances.
My own reason and logic do not apply here in the plot. There are sinister factors and conspiracies I could not imagine. No one is safe, I am told. And this is the habit of thinking. Sometimes I am challenged to keep my nose just clear of the sanity line as I listen.
A run in with the police. He says he has no idea why. Therefore he feels it is most unjust. Compellingly unjust.
I have absolutely no idea. I never will.
Still, there is a coffee card and socks.
Thank you Dear Anonymous.

It's a wonky world and the street this morning reflected the wonkiness.

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.

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 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.