Off Mike goes with a bag of toys we supplied this morning...

 
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Dear Anonymous,
Off Mike goes with a bag of toys we supplied this morning.
Maybe managing his mood through giving. That's not the whole story, I understand. But it is a medicine I can understand. It connects him to youth in a healthy way in which he seems to prosper.
The guys standing around my car ooooh and ahhhh as we reveal the items. A Barbie doll of color. A WWF action figure. A toy fire truck. Action figures of all sorts.
OOOOOOOOOOO. Ahhhhhh.
And they show in that second the children still in there.
Just for a moment. A crowd of boys, though they are all men.
And then it's off for a beer. Or a smoke. Or whatever it is that is their next step. One man looking better than usual comments,' People trash talk SPICE (a street drug) but when I use it I don't wanna' drink. And I don't wanna do weed. So that's a win.'
And he does look better.
All finding our way. And losing it. And finding it. And.....

His bag is just too heavy to carry.

 
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Dear Anonymous,
His bag is just too heavy to carry.
'Can you hold it for me for a few days?' he asks, with a jaw that has been rearranged and a face with steel plates holding it together.
Yes. Yes I can.
We wrap it up and store it in some corner of my car.
'It was just too heavy to carry.'

Some things are just too heavy. Best to put them down. I agree.

He wants to send a message to Evan Andrews, who he met at the YMCA gym and remembers fondly, before being brutally beat on the streets.
'Tell Evan, I love him too. I will pray for his brother. And him.'

He says this as a declaration. Here we are. Wounded and patched together and wound up in addiction and mental health chaos and here he is. Offering love.

Love it is.

This is the man who wrangled a porcelain sculpture of the Buddhist Goddess of Dawn down to Commercial Street as a gift weeks ago...

 
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Dear Anonymous,
This is the man who wrangled a porcelain sculpture of the Buddhist Goddess of Dawn down to Commercial Street as a gift weeks ago. I still cannot imagine how he was able to do that. I remain floored by his generosity. He comes. He goes. He struggles. Everything he has is chronically lost. Everything is always stolen.
And in essence, he is a love. In essence he IS love. And that's the way we meet.
And then everyone goes off as they do. I watch him lumber up the street with bags that seem like they are filled with rocks. He tells me they are supplements. He is going to gain 35 pounds of muscle this month.
'I'm taking before and after photos.' he says.

'Have any shoes?' he asks... I am soleless.' he said...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

'Have any shoes?' he asks.
What size?
'9 and a half.'
I don't have any today.
He shows me his right foot. The sole and heel are gone from his construction boots.
'Sole-less. Like me.' he says.

'Hardly without soul.' I say and then he beams this smile no mask can hide.

It has been pouring rain. Guys out here with sneakers have wet feet. They can't wait to get dry socks.
A new book for The Reader. Coffee cake. Coffee cards.
'Hey, you don't smoke but you got a light?'
I am grateful I do.
It is breezy. I cup my hands around the hesitant flame of an old lighter I found in my emergency gear. He leans in to light his cigarette. The cigarette trembles in his mouth. I notice he keeps his hands in his pocket for the most part and when he grasps the cigarette between two fingers they are shaking too.

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I am soleless.' he said.

And though he is struggling to remain upright, and is shaking, he is polite and kind...

 
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Dear Anonymous,
And though he is struggling to remain upright, and is shaking, he is polite and kind. The man next to him is wearing a hat we handed him weeks ago and I comment on it. I congratulate him for still having it. So, cigarette in the lips, he quickly points to his mask and smiles. I smile too. Because it is a mask we handed him also several weeks ago. We celebrate this small victory over personal space and belongings for just a fraction of a second.

It's a thing. Some of these guys arrive each morning having lost everything including sometimes the shirt off their back.

One man arrives in tough shape with a shirt that reads NO REGRETS. I comment on it . He says' Yeah....but I got plenty of 'em.'
His eyes meet mine looking up from his downcast face.

Something we have in common.

Love from the streets.

 
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Memory from July 8th, 2019:

Dear Anonymous,

He shouts at me from across the street.
'Hey! I got somethin' for you!'
He hands me a card. Taped inside is a necklace he has made. Within it is a note torn from a spiral bound notebook.
It is a thank you to a certain Dear Anonymous. It's content echoes the same message he has for each of you. For all of you Dear Anonymous's.

'Thank you for everything you do. I would have wrote sooner except I have problems with reading and writing, so someone helped me write to you.
You have done more than my family has ever done for me. You've shown me love and compassion. Which has made me see my life from a different point of view.
Also, it's inspired me to start doing some art work.
All my love from me and the homeless community.
We love and appreciate you!'

Coloring books. Paper. Markers. Socks. Coffee cards. The blankets. The fleece neck warmers. The boots. So simple.
It does not go unnoticed.

Love from the streets.

Here is a message attached to a PayPal donation of cash to Dear Anonymous...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

Here is a message attached to a PayPal donation of cash to Dear Anonymous. ( https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/joannearnoldefforts )

'Do as you see fit for a suffering person from a suffering person.'

A donation from someone who knows the streets. Harder streets than these.Knows isolation cells down in the basements of prisons. Knows heroin addiction. Knows recovery.

Deep regards and unbounded gratitude.

He asks me again and again if everything is alright with me and if he can help at all with ANYTHING...

 
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Dear Anonymous,
He asks me again and again if everything is alright with me and if he can help at all with ANYTHING and he assures me he is at my back. Street brothers. Street sons. I know he struggles. I know he has shown me a bit of his big heart. And we stand out here bruised and tattered with coffee cards and socks.
There's a request for tents if anyone has simple and smaller tents they'd like to move on.
A woman comes by and takes some shoes, a pair of pants, a coffee card and blows her cigarette smoke directly into my face. Half affectionately. Half diabolically.
I'll take that as a win.
They all arrive and then disperse. Some gulping water. Some gulping coffeecake. Heading for a beer. A cigarette. Heading for a coffee. Heading to do some dumpster diving. Some dealing. Some whatever. Many will make sure they say goodbye. Some will send their 'Love yous'. Some will be unable to lift their eyes...those bricks holding a secret they search them for.

Friends this morning holding a fresh copy of the July 2020 edition of MAINERNEWS featuring excerpts from TRANSIENCE BOOK II...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

Friends this morning holding a fresh copy of the July 2020 edition of MAINERNEWS featuring excerpts from TRANSIENCE BOOK II, a memoir about homeless existence here in Maine by Kenneth W Beek. You can pick up a copy free all over town and please do. Kenny's writing is insightful, rich, honest, humorous and spot on. I am honored to have my images of Kenny used on the cover and throughout the article. They were taken on a morning like this, only it was cold. And Kenny's good pal Joe Blaze threw an arm around Kenny and asked 'Would ya' take a picture of me and my best friend?' Kenny, having trouble focusing his eyes and stumbling and slurring his words a bit offered this unforgettable comment: 'I'm not on the street 'cuz I drink. I drink cuz' I'm on the streets.'
And that, for me, was a tipping point.
Thanks Kenneth W Beek.

https://mainernews.com/category/views/transience/

'Been hard the last two months. My girl left. She wants to be HERE. I can't be THERE...'

 
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Dear Anonymous,
'Been hard the last two months. My girl left. She wants to be HERE. I can't be THERE. We fall into bad habits together. But everybody's askin' for her all day. And my mom, she's real ill. And it's rainin' and the cops tell us to move out from beneath the awning and we're drenched and then the next cop tells us to move under the awning 'cuz it's rainin'.
We got Hannaford cards donated to us and a bunch of us pooled it together to get stuff for the shelter kids. We was able to get popsickles and cookies and we got them to the beach. And they played. With the new toys I brought. Some of them kids had never seen the water before even livin' here in Portland. It was somethin' different for them. For us. It helped the parents. Helped the kids. Gave us somethin' good to do. I wound up playin' Barbie. Dressin' and undressin' the dolls like the girls do cuz' that's how they play. One little one kept runnin' to the edge of the water and just stickin' her toe in and runnin' back. Over and over.....'

Several people are speaking at once and there's water and tshirts and socks and...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

Several people are speaking at once and there's water and tshirts and socks and coffeecake and coffee cards being distributed and 'Do you have any backpacks?' 'Do you have any pants?'
I have my camera over my shoulder and he says ' I guess I'm not pretty enough today to be photographed." and flashes this smile.

He doesn't love to be photographed. But he gives permission. He's looking for...

 
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Dear Anonymous,
He doesn't love to be photographed. But he gives permission. He's looking for a pair of shoes we had for him yesterday. But he can't find them. Size 15.
'I wasn't coherent yesterday.' he whispers in a quiet and raspy voice.
He asks for sage, a pair of socks 'Can you spare two?'. He needs a shower he says. We get some clean clothes rounded up.He taps his medicine bundle with his hand, near his heart and nods his head ever so slightly with gratitude to Maria, of the Penobscot Nation.Thank you.
He does not like being photographed and changes his posture immediately when the camera comes out ...but he allows me and I know this is a gift from him. He is a man of tender heart.