Loss, Presence and Presents

While I’m not a packrat in general, you could probably accuse me of being a wall-pack rat. 

I can remember my bedroom when I was 12 or so, every possible inch covered with posters of Dr. Kildare/Richard Chamberlin and Peanuts characters. My decorative trait stuck with me.

So it’s no surprise that Tillie, my motorhome for the past 9 years, has been decorated inside and out to make a statement. Outside, my HEAR US presence—the blatant reminder that over 1.7 million kids are homeless in the US. Inside, well, a more personal statement to/about me, the (mostly) lone occupant. 

I'm in the process of further downsizing, with Tillie2 being readied for my next round of travel. And I'm selling Tillie, hopefully soon, to be ready for my new, more concise, fuel-efficient wheels due to arrive by the end of August. So strip the walls I must...but not without plenty of reflection. 

Perhaps the image I turned to most was this—a photo I had taken of a hot air balloon with a quote that has continued to remind me that what I’m doing makes sense despite moments of despair. 

It is simple. We are where we should be, doing what we should be doing, otherwise we’d be somewhere else doing something else…. (anonymous) 

Yup, I needed reminders like that. I’ve spent these last years doing what even I thought was crazy—chronicling the dreadful (and growing) reality of family and youth homelessness in America, the country that used to inspire nations to want to be like the U.S.

But I digress…this is a personal blog, not one for my societal rants. 

Here's a clip (CLICK here 3-min video) of my inside mementos that kept me company because some of you might be curious (and because I won't be able to display them in Tillie2). But let me comment on just a few of the images and items....

In my first not-knowing-what-the-hell-I-was-doing year, 2005-06, I interviewed 75 kids from across the country. I asked them to share what it was like to not have a home, and what school meant to them.  

A 7-year-old girl named Lacey had plenty to say. Trouble was, fledgling filmmaker that I was, I didn't have the wherewithal to keep the camera pointed in the right direction and rolling. I did get lucky, and for anyone who’s seen My Own Four Walls, my documentary, you can recall her saying “I have to make new friends,” and her unmistakably sad sigh. 

Lacey gave me her heart, well, just half of it. It’s a rubbery thing probably out of a vending machine. It says “Best” and the other half, which she kept, says “Friend.” She's 16 now. Wonder what her life has been like?

The other part of this task that got to me was pulling down the photos in my bedroom. Head shots of special people were clothes pinned to a draped string on 3 sides of the room. Family. Friends. Personal. 

As I unclipped and dusted each one, I held that person in my heart. Some—my Mom, Dad, and sis Patty, along with Aunt Catherine and cousin Christi—have died. Some are struggling with heavy stuff. Some are doing OK. I felt connected with spirits of all, dead and alive.

My life has been pretty soft compared to many people I know. My heart has been dinged by loss enough so I can at least, I hope, relate to—or at least bear witness to—the vast sadnesses of my houseless, disenfranchised sisters and brothers along my path. 

I’m gearing up for Tillie2 and my next unknown route. I’ve learned lots more than I can express in these past years of incredible experiences and travel. I’ve been loved much more than I (sometimes) think I deserve. I’ve grown from a nomad to a pilgrim. 

To journey without being changed, is to be a nomad. To change without journeying is to be a chameleon. To journey and to be transformed by the journeying is to be a pilgrim.  Mark Nepo 

One thing I’ve figured out—I don’t know what’s ahead. But I do know it will be interesting, and worthwhile. So, please travel along with me…if you can stand doing Facebook you’ll get the daily update (and more, which you can pass over or not). 

Your presence is important…to me and to those whose hope is desperately attached to the possibility that our nation, our communities, ourselves, will move toward the ideal that everyone needs a place to call home. 

Not My Problem Mentality vs. Compassion

Having spent more time in brutal winter weather zones this year than I have since I bolted out of Illinois in 2005 for my nomadic life under the HEAR US banner, I am getting the reality therapy that millions of others regularly cope with during these blasts of winter.

I haven't forgotten what it's like to gasp at the subzero temps that get bolstered by north winds. Well, I sorta forgot, but my trip to MN in early December cured my amnesia.

What lingers in my frost-bitten head, however, is the awareness that I have so much when it comes to options for escaping winter's brutality, and so many have so little.

My house-on-wheels, aka Tillie, is a fine way to live small, except for the extremes of heat and cold. Though I'm parked at my sister/brother-in-law's house in the mountains of western NC, I'm still sleeping in Tillie, Maybe it's just a meager attempt at solidarity with the freezing masses. I could sleep inside. But the discomfort of the cold mornings when I have to crawl out from the warm down comforter keeps it real for me.

I find myself wondering about the millions of households struggling to pay for heat in its various forms. I know even more households have scant protection from the various forms of "polar vortexes" that vex us. And then we have the millions of kids and adults with no place to call home. Sigh.

Solidarity breeds compassion. And for sure we need more compassion. How do we get that? Well, this recent post, Cultivating Compassion, offers suggestions. One in particular that I like is mindfulness:

Fortunately, we also have the skills to reconcile the old brain with the new. One of them is a technique that we call mindfulness—moment-to-moment awareness of thoughts and feelings. That is, we have the capacity to be aware of awareness, and to simply observe and become familiar with the tricks our minds play on us.

Take the cold as a practical example. Can mindfulness bring the realities of others' sufferings closer to our hearts? I'd like to think so. And it leaves plenty of room for action--whether it's donating gently-used coats to a local shelter, sharing soup with an elderly neighbor, paying a family's heat bill for the month, or being nice to a worker who spends too much time in the weather. On our HEAR US website, we have a Compassion Epidemic  section with all kinds of suggestions for extending compassion beyond your doors.

I'm more than anxious for winter to take a hike. But I'm trying to "woman-up" to the reality that chills my bones. I'm not suffering, but many do. My challenge--what am I going to do about it?

Bugging Me is Easy

What gives the little brown flying insect, the size of a pin and a non-biter, the power to annoy the snot out of me? I've been trying to figure it out as I make my way eastward on my 7th cross-country trip for HEAR US, my unconventional nonprofit organization that gives voice and visibility to homeless kids.

This little varmint appeared the other day, I think the product of a grungy Indiana truck stop. For one thing it reminds me of floaters, that phenomenon that makes if appear that a bug is flying around your head. I'm not imagining it. I've seen this teensy bugger close up, and even took a few good swings at it, but it laughed as it scooted away. 

Yeah, since it's been with me all week, I've decided, Buddhist style, to see what opportunity it brings. Little bug. Big possibilities for self discovery! I won't go into all the personal junk. But suffice to say I could fill a few gigabytes with revelations about my, um, faults.

One fascinating aspect about this pinhead-sized visitor that made me shake my head at myself was how I almost got caught up in swatting it--OK, killing it--as it flitted by the windshield as I was driving. Picture the wreck (hopefully no injuries) and me crawling out to talk to the police officer. I, uh, was trying to kill this non-lethal bug  this * big. 

I admit, I let little things annoy me. I can lose sight of the big picture by getting distracted by something really stupid, aptly represented by this tiny creature.

Then we have the glaring issue of violence--how I gleefully would KILL this harmless little insect. It probably eats poisonous spiders or vampires or something. I want to kill it because it doesn't belong in, um, pristine Tillie??? Uh oh. Not a balanced approach to life.

Now I can take a swing at the things that annoy me in life. I'll spend energy on the more significant, like getting HUD to change their policies that threaten to cause homelessness for vulnerable families guilty of nothing more than being mired in poverty.

All of that from this little bug that continues to float imperviously around, knowing that I'm a lousy shot when it comes to killing something I've become fond of over this past week.

It's the little lessons that teach me the most. Wonder what my homework will be?

Milestones and Miles to Go

48 states. Heading into 5 years of living in Tillie. Who'd ever thunk?

I do remember 5 years ago as my plan to create this unconventional approach to homeless advocacy evolved. Even I had those moments when I thought I was nuts. Especially the RV piece.

After years of scoffing at RVers, I was to become one. No! But yes. And now I'm plotting my next--last?--cross-country venture.

This trip, if it materializes, has all the ingredients to pump my adrenalin. I am more determined than ever to give homeless families and teens visibility, especially in districts where their legislators have demonstrated cluelessness as recently illustrated by our homeless definition campaign's rejection.

Between now and the next few weeks I'm planning to clear out the stuff I don't need, paring my already semi-Spartan digs down further. I'll make greater use of my scanner and use/stash less paper. Getting my wires under control is also a priority before I strangle myself.

I also want to improve the ergonomic conditions I face daily by adjusting my workspace height. I saw an adjustable table in a campers' magazine. Yeah, I need to do something to adjust this table height. How remains to be seen....

Funny how things that were issues, concerns and unknowns are now non-issues. I'd like to think I'm learning to prioritize, that life in Tillie has taught me to value what is important. That's a lesson that needs some practice. The test will probably come in ways I don't expect.

August??!! You gotta be kidding!

I'm not an obsessive blogger, but when I found my latest RV blog was August I realized that I lost about 6 weeks somewhere in my crazy life. Gosh, hadn't I written ANYTHING??? since then???

A trickle of a memory started to come back--yes, you dork, you started a blog post about the kids who washed your gross RV. Oh yeah, I remember....and finished it.

Besides being on overload prior to my IL departure on October 7, I have an excuse for such lapses. My Dad died a week ago today, on 10/10. He was 88 and had lived a full life. The cancer and dementia was too much to overcome. It's a relief for all of us.

Bill was a funny guy--humorous and unconventional. He bought a camper--I vaguely remember it--back in the 60s. Mom said he just decided that it could be a good portable showroom for his gift business and bingo, he drove up to Indiana to get it.

I didn't see any pix of it as family rummaged through old photos in preparation for the memorial service. That would have been priceless. I guess he didn't keep it long. It probably proved to be a tad unwieldy as he lugged it behind his snazzy Cadillac.

Dad would always let you know if he approved of your choices, even if you didn't want/need his approval. When I was shaping my plan for HEAR US, my unconventional nonprofit venture to call attention to homeless families, I decided the only way to really do this was to get an RV, thus Tillie was purchased.

I didn't ask his blessing--or advice for that matter. I did talk to Mom about it and although she thought perhaps this was a little extreme, she stood back to let me follow my game plan. My first visit to their Atlanta area home three years ago was part of my maiden voyage--a learning experience to learn how to drive this big bus and to figure out the ABCs of RV camping.

My first state park was in Alabama (pix is the same park--Wind Creek). I drove westward out of Atlanta, watching the sky darken as I raced to get to the park. As I neared the park Mom called and said they figured I was heading right into a band of nasty weather and that tornado warnings had been issued. She said Dad told me to head for a hotel. Yeah, right.

I managed to land on the site, figured out (sort of) the plug-in system, try in vain to hook up the hose, and sure enough the tornado siren wailed. Now what? my naive self thought.

I stuck my head out the door and the people in the next site hollered over to follow them to the bath house, a slightly sturdier--concrete block--structure not too far away. Not grabbing anything except my cell phone I headed over.

About 8 of us huddled together. A wise traveler brought a weather radio. The counties where the warning was in effect were listed. I was clueless as to the name of the city, much less the county. Some wiser person knew our county, and yes, we were included. In fact, a tornado had been sighted in our general area.

Yikes! All I could picture was Tillie floating in the adjacent lake. I'd have to call family for help. NO!!! Can't do that!

After about an hour we figured the danger was over and meandered back to our campers. It was dark--power failure--so I didn't see the knee-deep puddles between me and Tillie. I trudged on, happy not to have to call home.

The moral of the story--pay some attention to weather and if you have to abandon ship, figure out what you should take with you. Let me suggest a flashlight. And pay attention to the name of the county you're staying in.

How did Dad know the storm was so close to where I was heading?! He didn't seem to be paying attention to my travel plans. I guess it's a Dad-thing. I'll miss those moments...and other endearing traits of his.

I will try to be more attentive to my blogs. Yeah, right!

Amazing Bucket Bath

Sponge baths are usually for sick people, not for scuzzy 27' RVs.

But at the end of September a group of 16-year-old girls swarmed around Tillie, armed with buckets of water with some good ol' Shaklee Basic H and rags, transforming my bug, dirt and moss covered home/office into a pristine palace, well, maybe not a palace...but pristine.

The crew belonged to GOALS, which stands for Give Offer Advocate Love Serve. They play soccer with the Tri-Cities Strikers' club in Geneva/St. Charles, IL. Their parent moderator arranged this opportunity--one which left me with a clean vehicle and gave me the chance to share the HEAR US documentary, My Own Four Walls, kids talking about what it's like to be homeless.

I wonder what it's like to be from an affluent community and watch 20 minutes of kids just like them talk about not having a place to call home.

Fortunately these girls have parents who work to provide opportunities for service, something that the girls have enthusiastically embraced. My hopes are that they take the nugget of information shared during our RV wash party and figure out how they can help ease this growing condition.

None of them batted an eye when we told them we'd wash Tillie with buckets, no hoses. Others would have said it was impossible. I have proof to the contrary! Of course, that proof will wash away as rains drop from the skies.

A side note--my favorite cleaning product--Shaklee's Basic H--was the only cleanser I had on hand for this, er, party. I had about 8 oz. left in my bottle. We used not even 1/2 of that to get the job done without harming hands, Tillie or the environment!

Can't wait to go back for a re-wash!

'House' Cleaning for Tillie

For the past 3 years I've been caught boasting about only needing 10-15 minutes to clean the inside of this tin house. My standards aren't the highest, or lowest.

As I'm 2 months away from hitting the road again, I realize I need to do some inside house cleaning and whittling down stuff.

It amazes me, even with a concerted effort, how stuff accumulates. I could go on and on about paper--my office space runneth over. But it's more than just paper. It's electronics from gadgets gone by, brown paper bags from Trader Joe's and Whole Foods that I fail to remember to reuse, someone's (who else could we be talking about?) clothing that hasn't been touched in 3 years, ditto for shoes, and "survival" gear that is so deeply imbedded in Tillie's bowels that I'd probably die trying to get to it.

So, my publicly stated game plan is to pick a spot a week--basement, bedroom, living room, etc.--and clear it out. I need to be in a purge state of mind. After all, why carry extra weight? This may be easier than shaving pounds off my body!

Gas Pains Bode Ill

Ever eat the wrong thing and suffer in your intestines because of it? That's kind of the sense I have about life in Tillie the tin-tent turtle.

Last week my good friend--and (real tent) camping buddy--Helen and I took off for northern Wisconsin for vacation. We chose to use Tillie despite the $4 a gallon gouging hitting the Memorial Day holiday travelers.

Our choice wasn't made ignorant of environmental concerns, but weighing the overall benefits/shortcomings of RV travel in this day and age where nothing is simple.

We were glad for our choice except when we stopped to fill up. Even then we knew we could afford the gas--albeit painfully--when some people who don't have adequate income can't afford to get to work AND pay rent.

After decades of camping in the wilds of the Boundary Water Canoe Area in northern Minnesota, Helen and I have succumbed to the comforts of warmth, indoor plumbing, and real chairs. We both can't believe we're there--but we are.

Lest readers who don't know better think we're complete wusses, we played disc golf like 39-year-old puppies, hiked with a vengeance, biked for miles, and wrestled ticks as we sought to spend every minute possible outside.

We don't know if that was our last pleasure trip in this HEAR US mobile office (I personally pay the loan payments, insurance, upkeep, etc., and we paid gas from our own pockets). We just know it was an awesome trip!

Highly recommended--Copper Falls State Park, and Highbridge Disc Golf complex.

Check back. As I have time I'll share a fascinating comparison with our camping 20 years ago and today.

Happy motoring. Yeah, right.

Walking the Walk

What's not to love about a view like this--the Wisconsin-cheese-curd-squeaky pristine beaches of the Emerald Coast, along Florida's Panhandle?

Taking a peaceful walk along the beach on the Emerald Coast of Florida, you still have 2 choices: walk by the ever-diminishing natural setting of a state park or gawk as you walk on beaches that separate mega-million dollar mansions from the sometimes surly sea.

We did both today. Seeing the not-humble abodes perched like flamingos on stilts designed to keep the dwellers' feet dry, these homes represent the typically very part-time residences for the very rich who like the view.

I like the view too. Not houses but sea oats and other wild growth that used to adorn the coast before it was discovered by silly people who think they're impervious to hurricanes. Building a house that close to the Gulf of Mexico is audacious. Building a multi-million dollar 5,000+ sq. foot mansion is insanity and waste.

One of our group commented about how obscene it is to see these huge domains here and to know so many other people have little to no place to call home. I don't begrudge people their pleasures if everyone has a chance to get the basics needed for survival. But that is less and less the case.

We returned to our home base, me with Tillie's 150 sq. ft. which more than adequately shelters me. What it would be like to live in a sustainable house? If anyone has some info about this growing--and essential-- form of housing, please let me know.