in the park

Every morning I get up very early and work out with a group of people in a nearby park. It's one of those organized things, where the guy in charge very nicely yells at you to do more run more jump more and you do it because you need to and also because it's fun. I've been doing it for awhile now and the group is friendly enough, companionable in the sense that we are all doing this together.

Two days ago we were on a little run and in a line we passed by a parked car. I see the people in front of me turn their heads as they go and when I pass I see a cat, a pile of blankets, and a kid and I immediately know it means some folks are sleeping in their car.

So I drop out of the line and run over to the car and I see a woman and a few kids and a couple of cats all piled inside. She's nervous when I approach so I talk to her through the window a bit, I tell her what I used to do and that I mean no offense but if they are without a place to stay maybe I can help. So she rolls down her window and we talk a good long while and I promise I'll connect her as soon as I'm done with this jumping around stuff. As it always has, my heart breaks for the kids, especially the one not much older than mine who jumps out of the car to get dressed in the street before school. Her little face is dirty but her smile is bright. They've been living like this since February.

They've been living like this since February.

So I fall back in with the class and there are some whispers, what was that what's going on are those people in their car and I briefly share and I also share that this is what I used to do and do in different ways today. Folks react in a way I am surprised by, they start telling me I am so good for doing this and I get embarrassed and a bit weird because I haven't done anything yet and this family is still in their car and it's awful. Later at work I recount it for my in the business friends and they understand my awkwardness because to them these sorts of interactions are normal and certainly not worth making a big deal over, it's simply what they do.

So today I go back a bit happier, because in the meantime I've connected the family with some housing options but am frustrated because it's going to take a few days. So I bring some food to give to them after class was over but during class others said they've brought food too.

So after class is over I walk over with some food and several others are coming too. So different from yesterday, today we are all gathered around the car, one woman is giving the kids all kinds of food. One of the guys is looking under the engine of the car, another helping load things in the back. There is talk of other ways to help, bringing dinner, clothes, a mechanic. They are inspired to do more.

All of a sudden the littlest girl starts jumping up and down Look mama, water! Look mama, bread! And in that space my heart cracks in half, little girls excited over bread and water is wrong on so many levels it nearly makes me cry. Our new friend looks at all of us, she does start to cry and thanks everyone over and over. She hugs us and we hug her and I promise to get in touch with her tomorrow. I know we'll figure this thing out.

I look at my peers and I see their faces, the generosity and kindness and everything else. I see they are moved by this moment and I am too. What created discomfort yesterday turned into love and action today. Strangers are now friends. It's so easy to do the right thing.

mi amiga

One of my early mentors and forever heroes was the woman I was assigned to work under in my first days inside the shelter. I was immediately taken by her strength, her ability to understand the multiple issues facing homeless families and manage to hold them close until the seams came together. She was fierce in her commitment you will do this mija, you can do anything hermano she would speak with passion and folks would listen. They would listen and do as she said and by the time they left us they had jobs and homes and money in the bank. Over the years I watched her change more lives than I could ever count and she did it entirely from the heart.

In many ways it was her calling, she was a single mom who'd fled a terrible situation, abuse and more and so one day she took her kids and ran, she ran and ran and for awhile and many years she was scared, she was alone and on her own and without a home. Yet she was a warrior, she fought for her family and for herself and used all she had to help others and over the years things came together, she ended up working at the place that sheltered her, she stabilized her life and had a roof over her head and then she gave back, did she ever give back. She gave back more than anyone I've ever met.

We had crazy times, she and I, like the time she stepped between me and the guy with the knife, the one with the wild eyes. As calm as I'd ever heard her she looked at him square, mijo, put that knife down and the blue eyed man dropped that knife where he stood. One other time a little boy was so troubled he decided to jump out a window but she was there, she was there and she caught him as he fell and she held on three stories high as he dangled out the window for endless minutes until others could come and help. I remember after she was crying and she said I was so afraid I couldn't hold on but I said God, you keep my fingers strong and He did.

There aren't words for the love and respect and awe I feel for her and have felt for her for 12 years or more. There aren't enough words for how much of an impact she'd had on others, for the thousands of children she's fed and clothed and housed. There aren't enough words to describe her grace of spirit and her ability to mother.

But there's a part of this story I forgot to tell you. Back when she was fleeing that terrible situation she was in, the man who wanted her dead, she grabbed her babies and she ran. She ran so far she ran all the way from Mexico to here. She ran her in the dark and she emerged in the light. She's a citizen now, she pays her taxes and owns a home and has for many years. She is grateful every single day to this country, this country who in her eyes saved her life.

Arizona, you've broken my heart. You've broken it because you are blind, because you are afraid, and because if you'd arrested my friend all those years ago on the night she saved her own life she'd never been able to save so many others and we'd all be worse off today.

You've done a bad thing, Arizona. You've done all of us a really bad thing. Shame on you.

Shame on you.

bags of rice

I dropped my Ipod in some water and didn't realize it for a bit so it sat there. Like it was taking a bath. Or swimming. When I realized what I'd done I grabbed it, frantic. I ripped off the case and dried it off, a used a blow dryer, paper towels. A friend told me to put it in a bag of rice and do not try to turn it on. I tried to turn it on anyways. Nothing. I put it in the rice and tried to forget about it. I accepted defeat.

A very good friend of mine just learned her husband has been having an affair. As cliche as it is, its not something she ever saw coming. None of us did. Not him. No way. Not like this. Not in a cheap Lifetime movie sort of way. It's ripping apart their family and sadly, those of us who love both of them. Or used to. Its Day Three since she's learned and already so much has changed. People surprise you. They break your heart. They turn into cliches.

I took my Ipod out of the rice today. Expecting nothing, I pressed the keys and it turned on. It plays just fine. Rice. Like the kind we used to throw at weddings before it all became so politically incorrect. All of a sudden I hate the rice that fixed my Ipod. But rice, just like us, is just along for the ride.

toupatou

I sit and I sit. I keep crying. Like you are, like we all are.

Haiti. Mwen regret sa, Haiti.

Mothers.

Fathers.

Babies.

I sit and I sit. I go online and make a donation and I feel futile. I sit and I wish I could do more. M hears us talking about it and it scares her. Earthquakes. Can it happen here she says and I nod, I can't help it so I nod and but I also say but it wouldn't be as bad as there even if it shook as hard. When you are poor, when you are so poor, everything is harder. Buildings fall down easier. There aren't as many cars and tools and machines to help you.

Like the jungle, she says. Like if we had an earthquake there.

More like that, yes. It would be more like that. But it's still so much worse there. For as poor as the jungle is, this place is worse. Worse, she says. Like she can't believe it. This child who grew up on shelters and then the jungle. She's already seen what a lot of people might think was bad already and yet I see her try and dig down deep and figure out more. It must be really bad she says. Yes. Can we go there and help she says. I hug her, maybe a bit too hard. We would just be in the way, I tell her. They need doctors and nurses right now.

Mothers. Fathers. Babies.

Haiti. Mwen regret sa.

Kisa pi nou fe?

we would if we could

Healthcare is free where I live. It's not excellent, it's probably not where you want to be if you get into a serious accident. But it's here. And it's free. A friend of mine has a father, he's 99 (go, him) and he was sick over the weekend, sick enough to warrant hospitalization and so hospital they went. She's Canadian so she's used to the mecca of free health care, and her standards are not low. She described a rather comprehensive effort to help her father, the one criticism she had was the lack of food so she had to bring meals in for him to eat. She mentioned the nurses feeling bad about it but cited a lack of funding that made providing meals very difficult. They would if they could, she said. Her father was discharged yesterday, the interventions provided were good and now he's on the mend.

And I've thought about that all night. They Would If They Could. But wow, they sure did a lot and it was all for free.

It's such a contrast to what I am reading about America's fight for health care reform. How it's a bunch of fat cats who have health insurance cutting and cutting and trimming and reducing and making it into a bill that might mean something, but it's clearly not Reform.

They Would If They Could.

Where is that ethic? Where is the ethic that we should do what it takes. That the environment and housing and food and healthcare should not victims of oh well, we tried, it's a good compromise after all. Where is the Yes We Can? The Yes We Will?

It's doubly disheartening for me because this President is the first one I've actually believed in. The others I expected nothing much from and got nothing much and that was to be expected after all, and we are left screaming and grumbling and carrying on. But this one, this one I believed in. I still believe in. So when I hear it's the best we can do right now I call Bullshit. Bullshit Mr. President. And I mean that with respect, because I do respect you. But I am worrying about you now. About things. About what it all means and wondering where the fight has gone.

Because it's not enough. It's just not. And I think you know it no matter how it's spun so I have to hope we are still mid-game here, that this is part of your strategy, but it's not really feeling that way right now. So I'll keep watching and I'll wait. But we need you to show up.

its ladies night oh what a night

It's been our ritual for years, these two friends and me.  When faced with big life changes we conspire to make it happen and this time was no different and in fact it's somehow the biggest change so far. I'm leaving them this time and there were no excuses to be had. My life will be so far away from this I can't help but say yes.

So we hopped on a plane to Vegas.

I rarely drink bloody marys but in Vegas it's all I am thirsty for.  We arrived at dusk as we watched the sun set and the moon rise from 30,000 feet.  It was spectacular and for a moment rational thought settled in. Then my friend handed me another bloody mary.  

When together we are so ridiculous and so silly that we spend most of our time doubled over, this motley crew of gender and race, we three race from taxi to hotel to casino, hurling our bags in the overpriced room one of them sprung for. We have to. It's our last night.  We spend the next several hours gambling and laughing and ordering drink after drink.  We have a minor run at the poker table, thankfully one of us is a professional and simply told the others what to do. Bet, hold, pass, shut up already.  All of a sudden it's 3am and two of us are fading fast but one of us, he can never let a night end. He looks at us and jumps up and down.  We have to, he says. In fact it would mean a lot to me. It's not the first time he's asked us to do this, in fact he asks us every single time and we always laugh and ignore him but it's one of the reasons we love him, he never gives up and is always earnest even when he's wrong.  But tonight feels more final somehow. So we look into his soulful brown eyes dancing with gin and look at each other and nod, fueled by a night of cocktails and our judgment is impaired. We are going to a gentleman's club.

I barely remember the taxi ride, our hilarity is so over the top.  The club like all the other clubs is as bright as sunrise.  We tumble out of the cab as groups of men stream past.  We females look at each other and shake our heads. I can't fucking believe we are fucking doing this she says and laughs.

The beefy guy at the front tells us how much it costs to get in and I turn to leave thinking there's absolutely no way in hell anything inside that room is worth this price.  As I'm turning I notice my friend pulling out his wallet. He pays for all of us and the velvet ropes part. We step over the line and I want to grab my friend's hand but it's time to cowboy up and this is no place for sissies. We walk inside.

This is where I should pretend like I'm sophisticated and worldly and that my jaw didn't drop on the floor. That I wasn't caught speechless by the dozens of drop dead ridiculously gorgeous women all walking around in every fantasy possible. Now I really want to grab my friend's hand but when I look over at her I realize she's got a woman pulling her towards a table. We sit down and three or four women descend immediately.  One of them starts petting my friend's hair and she looks at me in desperation.  Now who wants to hold whose hand I think with a grin.

Our reason for being there is for the first time all night playing it cool.  He settles in his chair and looks at us expectantly. So whaddya think?  I start to tell him exactly what I think but all of a sudden he's got a woman next to him. She's not doing much but she's beyond sexy. They all are. There's no denying this simple fact as much as I'd like to posture about how terrible I think all of this is, how baseless and demoralizing and....but I am suddenly captivated by a woman onstage dancing with a pole.  I've never seen this sort of thing in real life and now all of a sudden it's everywhere, it's dripping out of every pore and oozing from the floor. I turn to see if my girlfriend is watching and I catch her eye.  We cock an eyebrow at each other for a moment in shock and awe. I can't believe some people can actually move like that in real life. Girls come and go, a steady stream of them artfully and professionally ascertaining exactly how much money they can get out of us and fairly shortly they settle on the boy in the group, no surprise there. Even the five or so minutes of constant attention was so unsettling that I am happy it's over and they've focused their efforts elsewhere. We sit and watch for awhile longer, I'm sipping a final bloody mary like it's water and I've been in the desert for weeks.  

We talk quietly between us, mostly whispering things like look at her oh my god look at her how does she do that mother of god look over there when a woman sidles up to us and starts petting my arm.  Do you like what you see baby she says to me in exactly the way she's supposed to and I say sister you are smoking but can I ask you something and she nods I'm asking in all honesty and with no disrespect do you like this because I can't imagine this is fun for you and she looks at me and laughs. She plops down next to me and says fuck no, this is just the shit I do because men are dumb enough to want to pay for it. We start talking about this like I'm a freshman and she lays it all out, all the ins and outs and nightmares in between. She grabs my drink and finishes it off but for some reason I don't mind. 

Another girl comes up and joins in and we talk some more. It's the obvious things, the cash, the tips, the hours, and surprisingly, the medical benefits that make them choose this. We might as well be shoe shopping as they points out girls who glide by fake, real, what do you think, she's everyone's favorite, she's really nice, that guy is here every night that one's a nightmare and on it goes. She's nice, this woman. She goes on to explain how the private rooms work and my eyebrows shoot up again at the price. I want to ask what exactly comes with a cost like that but it strikes me that I might sound like I really am the most naive person in the room. So our conversation runs its course and I like her and I also want to cry.

Sensing there's nowhere else to go she gets up and leaves. My friend and I look at each other, we are exhausted now, this whole place is so tragic and unreal and stimulating and wrong.  We look at my friend and he sees our faces What? You guys want to go? And his face falls a bit, it's one of the reasons I love him, he's always earnest even when he's wrong.

It's just really sad here I say and my friend nods and says honestly what did you think we would think. I just can't believe you can really enjoy this and he shakes his head.  Well if you want to talk about reality then I guess it's ruined and he laughs and stands up to go.  We stumble past the rest of the scene and I can't help but see it all, the fake and the pretty, the desperate and the glitter and heat.  We go outside and fall into a cab. I smell like them now my friend says and she does, it's cloying and sparkly and sweat and silicone. We ride into the predawn, silent now for the first time all night. That was really weird doing that with you he says and we punch him in the arm, one on either side. What did you expect, you jackass. And he laughs and reframes himself. I just wanted to do that with you guys and even though it should be weird it's not because he's earnest even when he's wrong and somehow it even makes sense.

my last waltz

I've been saying so many goodbyes this week. Today is my final day in the most important work I've ever done and that I've ever loved, where for more than a decade I've had the pleasure of exercising my passion every single day. The place where I cut my teeth, where I stumbled, I cried and I laughed and where I finally learned to fly.

Saying I'm emotional is an understatement at best. While I knew this day was coming, I had no idea how hard it would be, to look those I love in the eye and hug them one last time. To hear one last story of hope, one last walk across the floor, one last time through the line. To hear words from those who mean so much, of remembrances, of hope, of sadness and loss.

Tomorrow brings uncertainty. A colossal move, a journey across the miles and straight inside my heart. But today I grieve for what I am leaving. My first home, my first acceptance, my first fight. I will never forget.

I will carry your stories with me forever. All of the nights and cold and heat and huddled masses, I will carry you with me wherever I go. And I am so very richly blessed for being a small part of something so magical for so long. I've walked with heroes.

I will still see you, nameless in the streets, I will see you and I will learn your names.

I've walked with heroes.

wherever we go you can come too

Oregon is so beautiful.  Being there this weekend in the freezing cold surrounded by forest and old friends, surprise visitors and even my brother.  The kids played and we cooked and we drank and we stayed up late and we laughed.  Oh, how we laughed.  It's easy to forget this kind of laughter, the kind that comes when you are with old friends, even if nothing important is said it all seems to matter.  

Each night at dinner one of our hosts put little cards under each plate and would call on us at random, playing Oz or maybe the guy from Love Connection.  All of the questions turned into a roundtable, each of us jumping in to answer someone else's until it was hard to hear each other speak. Some of the questions caused an avalanche of memories, each spilling onto the table and causing faraway looks and reminders of when. 

It was a good weekend.  Good for the soul.  Fuel for the journey.  More and more now I know we'll need it, these connections and also ways to say goodbye.  Everyone promises they'll visit and we hope they mean it because our door will always be open and cold beers will be waiting in the fridge. 

I've learned the hard way this week that staying connected is more than just words.  In the process of downsizing my life I reached out to a few folks I've lost touch with, only to find out one of them has died.  More than died, really.  He killed himself a few months after we last spoke and a few years ago now.  I only learned of it this weekend and I can't help but wonder what those last days were like for him and if he was lonely in the end.  I can't help but think of how brave I thought he was, a counterrevolutionary in his own right, on horseback and across borders and yet in the end none of that matters, it's what remains that keeps us and how we choose to live.  

Don't forget to send me your Just Posts by Friday and if you are so inclined, read my previous post and join us there too.

remembering

We sat while they flickered, one candle for every death this year. We honor those we've lost every year in a ceremony with folks from all walks of life but mostly we do it because it gives those who lost a friend to the streets a place to mourn. We had more candles this year than last, more than the year before that. The table was full and they all flickered seperately almost as if each soul was right there telling us what they thought. More than 100 people came to pay their respects and in that moment like in so many moments all that mattered was this one thing.

But after it's over it's back to business, folks who came for the service climbed back in their cars but the ones who stay went back to their usual spots, wondering I am sure if one day they will have a candle too.

I remember the first year we did this, ten years ago now. I'd lost someone then, someone I'd loved who had nothing and no one to claim him and my inquiries fell on deaf ears because there was no one listening anyways There's no one to call. But that's okay because you are all my family now. But from his passing a tradition was born, one that honors in sadness so many each year but started because of him and because he mattered so much. So no matter what a part of me is with him on this day, I always picture him looking down on us and saying all that fuss because of me?

To which I say Yes Bob, all this fuss is because of you. And to everyone who has come since.

I still miss you, my friend.

you know we'll have a good time then

We are eating dinner when the song comes on.  Harry Chapin's voice always makes me pause.  The cats in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon and as she's taken to doing more and more M inevitably asks what's this song about?

So we begin to explain, we stumble around a bit but finally get to the point. It wasn't quite as hard as explaining Coming into Los Angeles by Arlo Guthrie, what are keys mama, who is Mister Customs Man and why doesn't he like him mama....but we still muck around, partly or mostly because I fear what she might say and she does. She says exactly that. 

But mama, you are gone at work a lot.  Sometimes you come home late. I don't like it so is that like in the song and in that space a million puppies died and chocolate milk ran out forever. J's silent, he's not helping out with this one, he thinks I work too much too and besides this song was practically written for him and his dad and he kills him every time it plays.  

I tell her I am sorry, that I know it's hard understanding why I have to go to work every day and how one of the main reasons we are moving is to change this cycle we are forced to be on in order to make ends meet. I think of how so many families work 2 and 3 jobs and how some folks don't want to spend time with their kids but others truly cannot because they are working so hard to survive. And then I think of the precipice we are on and if we can make it work and if we can sustain it and realize once again everything we know to be true is about to change.

mail call

M: Why did they send us that picture of that little boy?  

Me: Well baby, they sent it to us because they want us to give them some money.  The people who wrote that letter run the orphanage where that little boy lives.  

M: Why do they need our money?  

Me: Because it's expensive to do good things for other people but without them that little boy wouldn't have a home.

M: Do we give them money?

Me: We do.  Not as much as I wish we could, but we do. 

M: But not MY money.  

Me: No honey.  Yours is in your piggy bank.  But you can give them some of your money if you want to.

M: But it's MY money.

Me: I know baby.  But the reason we have money is to take care of ourselves and to help others. It's up to you, but I bet if you give some of your money you'll find that you end up with more money later.  That's how life works.  You never know what's around the corner but you can't let that keep you from doing the right thing now.

M: I want to give them some of my money.  She proceeds to open her bank and pour it out.  She walks over and hands me some coins.  Let's send them this.  

Me: Well honey, that's .36.  That's a good start, but if we are going to send them some money it should be enough to buy something they can use.  Your piggy bank has a lot more money in there than that, so why don't you think about it a little more.  In Africa food costs about $1 a day. Maybe we can give them at least a dollar and whatever you decide to give them I will give them too.

She goes off and comes back with a bucketful of coins.  

M: How much is this?  We sit and count.  

Me: That comes to $5.34.  

M: Will that buy them food? I nod. Ok, let's send this.  She hands me the bucket of change. Well, it's kind of hard to give away my money.

Me: I know, honey.  But if we have less other people can have a little more.  This is how you help others and let them know we are all in this together.  We all do what we can.

M: But what about that little boy? I read her the story, people we know run this orphanage so we know it's on the level.  His mommy and daddy died and he's living in a home now with other people who love him.  

M: But not his mommy and daddy?  

Me: No baby.  She sits on the ground and looks forlorn.

M: But that's really sad.  

Me: I know, love.  This is why it's so good you want to help.

M: Maybe when he gets my money he'll know I love him too.

I hope so, baby.  I hope so.  

do or die

Can I be with you until we both die?

She asks me this sometimes and I never know quite what to say. Do I tell the barren truth, I'm sorry baby but no, because (god willing please all divine beings in the universe let me die long before you for the love of all things holy let this be true) I will die before you one day.

Or do I deflect, yes baby, well, we don't have to worry about that yet but one day we'll both grow older and you'll understand a bit more about how we grow and die.

Or do I say the thing I really want to (and if I mean it enough can I will it so?) Yes, child. Yes. We shall live together forever and always walk towards the sun. The grass will feel sweet under our feet and we will drink from the coolest springs. We will dance in meadows filled with flowers and will sleep on beds of ferns and we will never stop holding hands never not ever not even once.

The truth hurts, sometimes far before it's due.

the flood pt. 4 everything is still really bad

*The Flood Pts. 1, 2 and 3 are below.

Our friends sent us some pictures last night, the first is the center of the Village - the tiny light blue structure in the middle of the shot is the bus stop and the structure to the right of it is where the village normally gets it's bottled water. They whole area was similar to a roundabout, roads going one way and another and are all underwater. There was a bridge but it's either submerged or gone all together.

This is our little house, as you can see the water is still pretty high, we have no idea what condition it will be in when we get there. It's pretty though, isn't it? Some of our neighbors who have lost their home have asked if they can stay in it since we aren't there so hopefully the damage won't be too bad. Our friends say that 6 people from the village are missing and most of the livestock and cars. The water hasn't receded very much yet so it's still hard for them to know where things stand.
Because of all of you I was able to wire more money to them last night, the first wire went to a multigenerational family, ages 4 -72 who have lost their home and their garden and just about everything else. This time the money went to a single mom with 2 girls, she relies on tourism but with her simple guestlodge flooded she's got no money and nowhere to stay.

If you'd still like to contribute we can get it to them right away, there are more people who need help than there is money. Please contact me at girlplustwo(at)yahooDOTcom if you'd like to be a part of the amazing group of folks who have been generous beyond comprehension. The folks on the other end of your kindness are so thankful, blogging doesn't make sense to them but I let them know about all of you and how amazing your hearts are and they thank you too.

Update: We've now raised $710.00. The water still hasn't receded and it's been 8 days. Folks are getting sick and your donations purchased much needed food and clean water. Thank you.

Update #2: Up to $750.00 as of Sunday AM. Thank you.

the flood pt 3 - the village needs our help

Today J got this email from our neighbors in the village. It's a bit rough reading and there is a weird caps thing going on, but I'm choosing not to edit it:

Hey hope you are ok, this is a massive flood that hit the village and the Districts and villages around the country. It IS SO BIG THAT ME AND OTHER PEOPLE IN THE VILLAGE CAN'T BELIEVE IT. SO FOR RIGHT KNOW THEIR IS NO ELECTRICITY IN THE VILLAGE BECAUSE OF SOME ELECTRIC POST ARE UNDER WATER. THE WATER IS STILL HIGH ITS GOING DOWN BUT SLOW. THEIR IS ALSO NO WATER IN THE VILLAGE, BECAUSE THE RIVER WATER IS CONTAMINATED WITH SO MUCH BACTERIA, SO IT IS HARD FOR THE PEOPLE AROUND THE VILLAGE TO WASH THIER CLOTHS, TAKE A BATH. THE BRIDGE GOT UNDER WATER SO PEOPLE FROM THE OTHER SIDE CAN'T CROSS TO THIS SIDE. I WILL LIKE TO GET A HELP FROM YOU, IF YOU CAN HELP ME AND MY FAMILY, BECAUSE WE NEED TO BUY WATER, FOOD AND OUR CLOTHS ARE ALL WET BECAUSE OF NO WATER. TAKE CARE BROTHER.

This is from one of our neighbors, people who help us get water and make tortillas and show me how to do laundry and how to buy food in town (where I'm presuming they are able to send this email and others we've received this week). This is from the people who will take you in and feed you dinner when they have no money at all and they will hug you and hold your baby and treat you like family. In five years they have never once asked us for help so things must be pretty bad. We are going to wire them money but it doesn't feel like enough so I couldn't help but think that it can't hurt to ask my village here if you'd consider joining us in helping our village there.

If you want to join me in helping them please email me at girlplustwo(at)yahoodotcom. We have a paypal address but you'll need to email me so I can send it to you and I promise to send every cent to the jungle as soon as it's received.

I've only ever tried to raise money on this blog for established charities, so I'm feeling a little out of my depth right now but I can't sit here and do nothing while our soon to be neighbors have lost anything. I promise you it's going to good people who need our help.

Update: $120.00 has been raised so far - thank you so much. We just sent the first wire transfer and will do it again tonight as new $$ comes in. Any little bit helps. Thank you!

Update #2: Because your hearts are gigantic we've now raised a total of $320.00, all of which has been wired to the jungle. Thank you so, so much. Every dollar matters so if you are so moved, please let me know. They can use our help!

Update #3: We are up to $445. You are the most lovely people in the world. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

the last american cowboy

Some of you have posted beautifully lately on hearing the wisdom of those you've lost after they've gone. It's moved me, so much so I can barely get through your posts without breaking down crying. It's moved me because my grandfather see, I always thought he'd come back for me too.

I loved him fiercely. In a broken extended and dysfunctional family he reigned supreme, with a quick and fiery mouth and for most of his life a ready fist for anyone who got in his way (women and children excluded of course). His family was the most important thing to him on earth and never found the words to express it, he'd show it by giving everyone a hard time in an incredibly funny sort of way. He grew up rough, 11 brothers, poor, the bluest of collars. He had my mom early, he was sixteen years old and as such she grew up inside pool halls, watching his hands gripping a pool cue and a wrench with equal acumen.

I was the oldest of a mess of grandkids and we were closer because of it. I loved him fiercely, even as he made mistakes I only saw the grandeur of his honesty, the raw authenticity of a man who grew up in the streets. As I grew older we'd made our own way, I'd spend hours with him in his old barn, sharing a beer and pawing through endless miles of acquired junk. We'd talk about how much he loved his family. There was no bullshit between us and he was indefatigable, this man who could kick everyone's ass and as he grew older mellowed a bit but never really all the way.

When he was diagnosed with cancer we were all in shock. It came violently and without mercy, stripping him of his vigor in a way none of us could have imagined. One of the last times I was alone with him in the barn we talked candidly, him giving me a hard time for not settling down and telling me that was one of the reasons he was still hanging on, to make sure I didn't settle for a piece of shit. By some divine intervention and not too long after I'd met J.


His wife called me one day and said she didn't think there was much more time. She said it would be a good idea to make the long trip back and to do it soon. By then I'd only known J for a few weeks but I invited him to come and I was honest, I don't know where this is going but it seems pretty good. I want you to come and meet the old man. So we travelled a long road trip and climbed to the top of his dusty mountain and when I introduced him to my grandfather I said the same. It's not been too long yet but it might be something and I need you to size him up. And I knew he would too, there was one guy deep in my youth who he met and actually threw out of the house, the poor guy wasn't doing anything wrong and yet my grandfather had a sense, he actually opened the door and said you can get the hell out and you need to stop seeing my granddaughter too. At the time I was pissed and a few months later I'd realized exactly what he was trying to tell me that day and he was absolutely right.

The day I brought J to meet him my grandfather did something he hadn't done in months, he pulled on his cowboy boots and hat and enormous belt buckle and took J for a long walk, they scoured the property and my grandfather showed him all the things that were most important to him from his homemade cemetery to the cross on the top of the highest hill. My grandfather as was his way made no pretense I'm seeing if you are good enough for her, because I'm going to be dead soon and no one else here will kick your ass if you aren't so I'll have to do it before I go. But when they came back several hours later my grandfather looked at me, he's alright, girl. I think you might be right about this one. He's better than all those other dumbshits you brought out here. And I remember I started crying, not because of what this might mean in terms of me and J but because I knew he'd be dying soon, one less thing to keep his stubborn body alive.

He died a few weeks later and I've never heard from him since. I always thought he'd come to me, our love was so fierce and long I had assumed it would transcend death. But I still can't hear him and I wonder if I ever will. I've got no doubt he's busy, there are probably fights to be had and darts to throw where he is but I wish he'd let me know he's still paying attention. Because every day, old man, every single day of my life I still miss you and wish we could have just one more day in the barn.

where the streets have no name

Sometimes it catches me off guard. I walk in and it's loud, someone's screaming and I can't quite figure out why. A woman, she's in the corner and she's rocking back and forth. There's a guy over there in a wheelchair, he's nodding off and I think he might fall over, his cap says something about being a vet on it. The line for the clinic is long, folks are coughing and no one is smiling. My eyes, they meet hers and her pain is so palpable I look away, I look away and I keep walking and I feel the sting. Everyone looks so tired. I see an old timer and his eyes light up. We momentarily embrace probably harder than necessary but in that moment I am hugging all of it, the pain and the sorrow and the fucking desperation that wraps around my head like a thick winter fog. Words are futile, sometimes this shit just sucks.

As much as I try and spin it the erosion is clear. The warehousing of human beings is wrong at best and things aren't getting better and really it's worse. Folks are sicker and older and sometimes the weight of the endless suffering and bags of belongings and the limping and the crying kids and the vacant stares and the weathered fingers and the old shoes and I could go on and on and it's simply too much. The beauty is there, it always is if you look hard enough but the suffering has it's own flavor, strong like a red chile or a head of raw garlic, it's there and you taste it and no amount of water can soften it's bite.

It's time to send us your May Just Posts. The Just Post Roundtable is coming up on June 10th so between now and the 7th we invite you to send us links to posts on social issues and justice, ones you've written or ones you've read. You can send them to me at girlplustwo(at)yahoo(dot)com and everyone is welcome and it's free and we don't rely on animal testing or kill any trees in the process so there are no more excuses. Join us.

i think it was the fourth of july

He's in the park, she said, this nameless woman calling out for help. I see him there every day. Every day for years and I don't know what to do. He's always in the park. This isn't right. Can't someone help? I know this cry, someone somewhere needs to do something. Someone. Somewhere. Do Something.

I hear this and pause. Search and rescue crosses my mind, the notion of a St. Bernard with little barrel flask around his neck, I think of snow for some reason which makes no sense. One of us, one of our tribe who never says no he goes and he goes cheerfully. Let me just check it out and see what's what, he says. And he goes to that park.

A few hours later there's an update. This man in the park. No shit, he's been outside a very long time. But for some reason today is our lucky day. He comes with my friend and he goes inside. He's eating, my friend says. He sure is hungry. I've got him settled and he'll stay here for the weekend and then we'll go from there. But you know, it's crazy. He's a vet and he says he's been outside for 20 years.

And for some reason I feel like crying.

This was a week ago and yesterday I meet this man from the park, my co-worker brought him to meet me and with a look he tells me silently it's the guy, the guy from the park. He's bronze, so bronze he's leather, his eyes are kind and his teeth are shattered. I shake his hand and tell him I'm so happy he's with us and he shakes mine back and agrees. The three of us talk for a few minutes and I like this guy, I like him a lot. There's a sense you get and your first instinct usually sticks, because there are no pretenses unless there are and you spot those a mile away and it's fine but then it's different and there were no pretenses here. As he leaves he surprises me and leans over and hugs me and so I hug him back this bronze man from the park and I have to ask why did you finally come inside after all this time? And he looks at me and says well you know because he asked me to. And I can't help but wonder if that meant in all that time no one else had.

cracks and fissures pt 2

So I've talked about her before, this little girl who breaks my heart but what I haven't talked about is how cruel she is to M, who worships her, talks about her incessantly, always setting aside little treasures to bring her, allowing her good days to rise and fall on this other girl's mood. She told me the other day she brings her presents so she likes me mama, I just want her to like me mama and why doesn't she like me mama i try so hard. And I saw myself and a thousand girls in her and I wanted to pull the car over on the freeway and cry because there will be a lifetime of this and I can't believe it starts so soon.

Little girls can be mean, hurting little girls even more so. Nearly every day M will tell me her latest heartache, ______ was mean to me today, the next day _______ spit on me (note to little girl, you do not spit on my kid.) I know this little girl is in pain, the sorrow hangs heavily on her face but she's learning, she's learning so soon the art of cruelty, the masterful way words can punish and wound. It's not her fault and yet she wounds my girl all the time and no matter how many times M and I have gone round and round, from the trying to remember not everyone feels the same way to sometimes we all have bad days to M, my baby girl, you simply do not deserve to be treated like this and there will come a point where you simply will have to stop trying and I'll be right here when you do.

And it wounds. It wounds because she's not yet four. It wounds because every day I leave her to defend herself and she can't quite figure out how to do that, how to let the nice girls matter as much as the one whose attention she wants the most. I've talked to the teachers, I've even talked to the little girl but words are small, they are little scraps of paper blowing around the windy playground sticking to the fence. They blow and swirl around my girl and yet every day she tries again, her wide open heart runs straight up to her and waits to see if she'll be turned away. She catches my eye in those moments, the ones I'm there to catch and I see her face fall. Today I went to her and gathered her in my arms, the other little girl watching us and while part of my wanted to gather them both my arms are not quite built for two.

bread and roses

I saw him through the big sliding doors even before I stepped inside. I don't know if the other shoppers could see it, his very full backpack or the fact that it's not quite as warm as his layers of clothes might suggest. I see him head down an aisle and I turn down another. We cross paths in the bakery section and I take a longer look while pretending to eyeball the bagels. I see the dirt under his nails, the fraying at the hem of his jeans. He's perusing the loaves of wheat bread and has a container of soy milk in his hand. It strikes me then and however unfairly that I wouldn't assume healthy eating habits would be a priority and yet why not, why the hell not.

Up close his backpack is pretty dirty and I see a familiar card poking out of the side, I confirm what I know, he's spent some time at our place and yet his face is unfamiliar. He looks at me and I smile. Hey, we both exchange and the briefest of smiles flit across his face before he looks away. He reaches for a loaf and walks away, milk in one hand and bread in the other. I stand and watch him go because in these moments I want to engage a bit deeper, for however little it matters I want to let him know he is not invisible to me, that my heart goes out to the unfairness of not having a home and having to carry his world on his back. And yet words sometimes or often fail me, and I'm left alone with the bread and the bagels and the softness of Hey.

cracks and fissures

M and I walked merrily into her classroom the other day and as usual, her little posse ran up for the usual viewing and cooing. After a minute all but one girl dance away and she looks up at me and says My mommy hit me between my legs really hard.

So I bend down and look her in the eye. Does it still hurt? She shakes her head no. Well babe, I am so sorry to hear that happened to you. Hitting is never okay. How are you feeling? Sad, she says and M says I'm sorry _____ hitting isn't nice. And looks at me expectantly. Heh.

This little girl is usually there when we arrive and still there when I return. Her hours are long and on the few occasions I've seen her mom she always seems stressed. I've heard her yell at her once, she's a single mom and I am sure her hands are full. I give her a hug and a bit stupified, I look over at the teacher as the kids run off to play.

Quietly I ask her if she heard what was just said. She says she didn't so I repeated it to her and the teacher says Oh. She's said that sort of thing before, but I've talked to her mom and her mom says she makes things up that aren't true. I look at her dumbfounded. And sometimes they say things because they ARE true and then one day they will stop saying them because no one is listening, I reply. She assures me she'll look into it but now I feel a little ill.

I've seen more abused kids in the course of my work than I care to remember. I've seen many good families torn apart by speculation and system failures and troubled families whose troubles got worse. I've seen babies wrenched from their mama's arms and I've seen kids grow up in the system worse off than before. I've also seen kids rescued from horrifying situations and the damage that was done before folks knew to help. None of it is easy and all of it is bad.

There are no good answers and as a sister I am hesitant and as a mother I have no choice. Goddamnit, I say over and over as I drive to work.

I call the Director from work and tell her what happened. I like this woman and she responds exactly the way she needs to and says she'll take it from here. The teacher's comments were news to her and very troubling and I could hear the frustration in her voice. I hung up feeling like I did what was necessary and the sadness stuck with me all day.

When I got home I told J what happened and how it made me feel. He said you know, this is weird because I never usually see her but when I picked M up from school today she was in the parking lot and the mom was yelling at her in a way that made me cringe.

And we both fell silent for a minute, my heart breaking for the little girl and for her mama too.

This was difficult to write, I struggled to bring it here so if it's disjointed I apologize. Today's the last day to send me your Just Posts at girlplustwoATyahooDOTcom. Our Roundtable will feature all of them on the 10th. It's not too late to join us.