Dear Anonymous,
Someone donated a big bag of tshirts and part of the joy was unfolding each one with the guys and watching them figure out who would like each one. This guy will only wear plain shirts, 'I ain't no billboard.' So, the plain one goes to him.
This guy loves Batman so the Batman shirt goes to him without question. The skateboard shirt goes to the younger fellow along with the band tshirts.
Mike calls out 'THAT one's for Tyler!' and we put it away for him. Tyler arrives and Mike is excited to hand it to him. And Tyler's response, so worth it.
Thanks Dear Anonymous.
A few days ago Mike overdosed near Preble Street...
Dear Anonymous,
A few days ago Mike overdosed near Preble Street. A man, a stranger to Mike, jumped in to administer narcan, not once, but three times before the ambulance arrived with the fourth shot on the way to the ER.The man even retrieved Mikes' gear and kept it all safe for him until he was released from the hospital.
That man speaks little English and is an immigrant, we believe from Iraq.
Mike found him yesterday to thank him. Offered him a beautiful medicine bundle gift from his own culture and tried to describe its meaning and value to the man who saved his life.
'I tried but I was gonna' start ballin' my eyes out. Years ago I woulda' said GET LOST to someone like him....'.
Someone like him refers to the mans' immigrant status.
Mike is struggling this morning with inner disappointment, that shame of relapse. A heavy burden.
He's taking some actions to start painting again.
He stuffs a bag with donated womens pants and tshirts to bring 'up the hill' to the resource center.
Mike is showing me that he attached a card sent to him along with a medicine bundle from a friend in the Penobscot Nation. He says it's a prayer that helps him. Sometimes I watch people who have almost nothing, and what is it they hold onto. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
I will remove the color so I can see your impossible structure because if I touch you, you will come undone. Literally.
I will remove the color so I can see your impossible structure because if I touch you, you will come undone. Literally.
Our Lady of Victories
A giant amazonian woman in armor, wielding both a weapon and an olive branch. On a deeply personal note only, she lent me great fortitude this morning. And that reaction too, I will need to examine.
Our Lady of Victories
These are the fallen flowers of a black locust tree in my neighborhood...
These are the fallen flowers of a black locust tree in my neighborhood. These trees appear as towering long limbed arabesque dancers. This makes it clear I am not a science writer.
Anyway, it is native to northeastern latitudes and grows well on degraded soil contributing to soil fertility by partnering with a bacteria to fix nitrogen. What a relationship.
It's sweet flowers are sought after by pollinators.
Its timber can remain rot free for a century.
In my neighborhood. Have walked by this grove of trees for literally 40 years.
Thank you Anne Madden, for opening my eyes and mind to these complex microbial relationships right before my eyes.
Peonized
Peonized
It is a solid forty degrees cooler than 2 days ago here on the Coast of Maine...
It is a solid forty degrees cooler than 2 days ago here on the Coast of Maine. The relief is palpable. Plants sip up what they can, reserve what they may and offer a chance to carry on.
This is George, the Greenhouse Cat...
This is George, the Greenhouse Cat. This morning George is INSIDE. And is equally disgusted with me that I can not let him OUT. It is about the same disgust he exhibited yesterday when he wanted me to let him IN. We know this about cats. And I love George. My thighs, in my running tights, were somewhat relieved his claws were being sharpened on the OTHER side of this door.
At Work On Water At Work On Land
At Work On Water At Work On Land
Memory from June 21st, 2011 - with Stu Jones
And you would hold me.
And you would hold me.
This is George the Greenhouse cat. He is grumpy, perhaps incensed, as he recognizes once again...
This is George the Greenhouse cat. He is grumpy, perhaps incensed, as he recognizes once again, my inability to open the damn locked door for him. His ticket to coolness, water and breakfast. This morning he digs his claws into my thigh. A love tap no doubt. I discover running tights are no barrier to his 'affection'. My response, immediate and vocal, made it very clear that I was a lost cause in George's attempt to persuade me.
I pray that I never walk by you anymore. Which I have for over 6 decades...
I pray that I never walk by you anymore. Which I have for over 6 decades. Busy with this. Or that. I hear the chatter that justifies all this. But I cease listening to it.
A very, very long way from the street corner that a dozen truly battered people wait...for socks.
A very, very long way from the street corner that a dozen truly battered people wait...for socks.
To those of you I know out here who have struggled with their fatherdom...
To those of you I know out here who have struggled with their fatherdom. Who have not been present to their children due to substance abuse, mental health issues, because sometimes you were initially broken by your own father...who was likely broken. Or had no father. Or no model for what it might be to be a man you now want to be. A lineage of broken hearts. Cheers to those I know out here who have been able to rekindle relationships with their children and those reshaping what it is to be a fathers child. Who have rebuilt relationships as you rebuild who you are and what you can be to others. Prayers to you who want to leave a legacy for your children, the children who have dismissed you or will not recognize you, so hurt are they. Keep. Going. I pray you continue your work on yourselves, the greatest gift you can offer your child ...and us. We see you and hold you in our hearts. And for those that have been hurt by your father, in all the ways humans hurt vulnerable humans, I open my heart to that pain and pray for you, a life in love. Regardless.
And so it is. Sunrise one minute later than yesterday. And it continues each day...
And so it is. Sunrise one minute later than yesterday. And it continues each day. Do the math over a week. A month. And even though the sun is way over there closer to north than seems possible, I turn and look south east and place a marker in my memory of it's location in December. Every taste of summer includes this breath of winter. Every breath of winter holds this taste of roses on a summer breeze.
It's Father's Day. And that can be a trigger out here...
Dear Anonymous,
It's Father's Day. And that can be a trigger out here. Abusive dads. Dads that are dead now, that despite their abuse, they miss with their broken hearts. Dads they are afraid to call because they are calling from the street. And that call is likely not going to go well.
Grief over not being able to be present to their own children. Or failing at yet another relationship. Abandoning their own children as they have felt abandoned. There is love in the story. Ferocious love wanting to be lived but it's strangled with trauma. Riddled and choked with shame. Complicated with mental health issues.
So, hey the pain is too much and I don't wanna feel ANY more pain, so...let's get high.
And by the grace of a stranger on the street and three narcan shots administered by that stranger and another narcan shot in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and he's here to speak about it.This is the story Mike tells me of his yesterday.
An empathetic ER doc who fed him popsicles and talked straight with him is on my mind. Thank you. The stranger is on my mind too. Thank you. That Mike will share this story is a sign of strength I pray he someday recognizes if not already.
The ghosts of guilt, shame and remorse are flying about his head like those old cartoons of birds flying in a circle to illustrate the effect of being pummeled in the head.
I arrived in a pissy mood, not aware of the situation. And he made every attempt to lift my spirits. He tried to soothe my aggravated little, puny self. And then this story tumbled out.
Sometimes it is really best to shut the f*** up.
Every card. Every shirt. Every pair of socks. Walked away clutched in hands and stuffed in packs.
sometimes just best to shut tf up.
sometimes just best to shut tf up.
The Unexpected Face of Bee Balm
I had never taken the time to look you in the face all these years. I mean really look.
The Unexpected Face of Bee Balm
Tyler always offers himself to be photographed. He steps into the experience of being seen in a way few do...
Dear Anonymous,
Tyler always offers himself to be photographed. He steps into the experience of being seen in a way few do. And I always love that he allows us to see him. In good times. In bad. That somehow he seems connected to something far deeper in him than appearances.
This morning he drops his gaze into that lens and looks straight into me as if he can see a distant galaxy, and simultaneously as I squint through that viewfinder, he becomes the galaxy himself. The camera disappears and I am standing holding nothing but ferocious love.
And then there's socks and coffee cards.
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards...
Dear Anonymous,
Today arriving with a generous donation of shoes and boots, pants, socks and coffee cards. Thank you Dear Anonymous.
Mike is a shoe guy and was really pleased with this donation. Happy feet help on the street when you're pounding the pavement without regular hygiene.
It's a morning of loss too.
This young man lost his family to his drug use. Worried about his mom.
And this woman. She lost her job, her home, her kids. Drug use.
He lost his backpack. Again. Pants, no belt...and all I can find is some clothesline.
He, well, he lost his patience long ago. Along with a grandson.
Some have lost their minds.
Mike apologizes for the behavior of one person, 'She 's been out here so long she's lost her politeness.'
And so it is.