Profound Disappointment, aka Funk

Coming off a wonderful vacation (except for the last morning when a terrible truck collision occurred right at our campground, causing 1 fatality and several serious injuries), I was happy. 

I even was happy after speaking at Cardinal Gibbons HS in Ft. Lauderdale, where I had graduated almost 50 years (gulp!) previously. And I maintained my balanced and peaceful state of mind despite having to buy 2 new tires and get TillieToo TheTurtle’s alignment fixed--again--another story.

What set me off, gradually, was my pal Pat LaMarche’s post about her funk. It’s contagious, I guess:

so i spent the better part of my week off with Chad, relaxing and except for a little work via email and phone, letting my mind wander. yesterday, when our little five day run-away-from-home ended, chad asked me if i was happy.

i told him that i have a wonderful life and i'm the most fortunate person i know, but at times i'm profoundly sad. the difference between my life and the lives of the people i work with is such a stark one, it's hard to be as happy as i should be.

i grieve daily for one tragedy or another. and i stare at them all the time at work, and think of them when i'm not working.

my buddist therapist of yore would have told me to shed the sadness, it's not every enlightened of me. oh anurag, i miss talking to you. i guess i'll go buy his book. http://www.rebelsatoripress.com/awakening-anurag-shantam/

Well, that just added to my discontent. I had been driving around the richest county in Florida, Palm Beach. I bounced between ultra-rich and ultra-poor. I shook my head at the Martin Luther King Jr. memorial where homeless people slept under “his” gaze. 

I drove along the famed A1A, by estates hidden by hedges and fences. I bristled at the mega mansions and high-end high-rises that blocked my view of the ocean. 

I wove through narrow streets on the other side of the tracks that reflected the polar opposite of the beach drive. I saw despair on the faces of workers waiting for the bus. I saw exhausted defiance in the eyes of those holding signs on the street corner across from Trump’s colossal establishment.

The clincher, though, was going to Our Lord’s Place UMC. John, the director of St. Ann’s Place, suggested I stop by OLP because they were holding their homelessness Sleep Out. I’d suspect this church is one of the wealthiest UMC I’ve seen. 

And they’re into this event. I wandered around, noticing that they at least seemed to have invited a few homeless adults. But the event had the feeling of a carnival on steroids. Card tricks, entertainment, auction...all the things that will raise money. And I suspect the money will be well used. But...

But this county has no emergency shelter. So, weather being what it is, other perils being what they are, hundreds? thousands? of homeless people have no place to sleep in one of the wealthiest counties in America. 

It’s not tricky to explain my funk. It reflects Pat’s. My life is wonderful. Comfortable. And I know so many more who have nothing. 

I’m grateful for those who do what they can do to alleviate the sufferings of kids and adults without homes. I just wish the contrast wasn’t skyrocketing so much. 

And that those who have so much would join those of us who are trying to ease the abject discomfort of homelessness. And that Congress would buy a clue and get HUD to revamp their policies...and...yeah...funk.

Thawed, Just In Time for the Next Blast

Tillie2 after Snowzilla 2016

In mid-January I parked Tillie2, my home on wheels, without electrical hookup for a couple nights as I scooted into NYC for a conference. The weather was moderately cold, and I was not surprised when I returned to find that my systems (water and sewer) had frozen in that period.

Not a good situation since now I’m living in this little van and will be filming and speaking in Pennsylvania for a few weeks. Without going into gross detail, let me say that being frozen presented monumental challenges. 

A friend made a call to the local fire station. They agreed to let me park in their heated garage for a short time. I could not have been treated nicer, including some over the top help from one of the firefighters who has a camper and knows the issues I was facing. 

My water thawed. The black tank didn’t, despite heroic efforts. I was bummed but understood that I couldn't stay there all night, and I ventured back to the below-freezing world, stymied. 

After another day of frustration, I went into the big box home improvement store, resolved to buy the equivalent of dynamite if it would help. I ended up with a $10 plumbing snake. And amazingly it worked! 

In all my 10 years of full-time camping, this was the most vexing issue. Of course, I’m camping in a part of the country during the time of year that no one in their right mind would be camping. Which got me to thinking…

The treatment I got at the FD was extraordinary. They’re used to rescuing people, so maybe that’s why they agreed to help. They rescue many people, including homeless folks I know, and often have to do it time and time again, often for recurring poverty-related reasons. I’m sure these rescuers get frustrated with repeated calls for the same old thing.

It was clear that I was given a break, and that future rescues would not be possible. I had the wherewithal and determination to attack this challenge, and got lucky finding the tool I needed to fix things. But my impoverished and otherwise challenged friends don’t often have what they need to get out of the situations they end up in. 

No easy answers, other than pointing out the obvious—that resources and ability matter. Those without the means to solve problems often find themselves in deeper ones. And the rescue process is expensive. 

My luck—having what I need—is just that, luck. I’m glad I’m lucky, but I don’t feel a sense of entitlement. I do have a deep sense of appreciation, especially since we got hit with Snowzilla 2016 just a few days after I thawed. 

The moral of the story for me is appreciate what's flowing when it's flowing. Yeah. 

I Can Have Fun Doing What I Do!

People always ask me how I can stand the hardships of my work. They're not talking about my life in Tillie2, my little motorhome, although on these hot summer days I'd welcome their cooling compassion!

My work is that of sole staff person for HEAR US Inc., my brainchild of 10 years ago when I figured I could be the one to give voice and visibility to homeless children and youth. I've been on the road since then, having traded my nice little townhome for a house on wheels. I envisioned, somewhat crazily, the project of filming interviews of kids in homeless situations and posting them so others could see.

Amazingly, my dream wasn't far off. After 220,000+ miles of mostly backroads in 48 of the contiguous United States, I've met with success, as much as that can be measured. Lots of people like what I do, love it, even. I get tremendous feedback. Families and youth experiencing homelessness are thrilled with the opportunity I present for them to be seen and heard.

Last month, I was invited to hang out at the most awesome summer camp I've ever seen: Camp IBA (Imagine. Believe. Achieve.), an effort of the Wichita, KS School District 259's McKinney-Vento Homeless Students program.

This 9-week camp runs from 9-4, giving parents who are ousted from shelters during the day a safe place for their kids while the parents look for work, housing, etc. The camp is run by professionals and has "real" teachers. It's a bevy of activities that would make affluent families drool. The kids get to swim, dance, drum, learn math, play games, visit cool places, and hang around with topnotch professionals.

The campers accepted me, and even ignored me as I tromped around their school-camp with my cameras. And I got a pile of cool pics and video. More on that later...

The municipal pool is conveniently located right across from their school/camp. They had scheduled sessions where segments of the campers donned their swimming suits, grabbed their towels, hopped into their flip-flops and headed to the pool.

Getting to watch these kids have unbridled fun does my heart good. Watching this short video I made will do your heart good.

It's worth remembering that, given the opportunity, kids experiencing homelessness can thrive. At least for 7 hours a day. At camp. What fun.

In the Shelter of Each Other the People Live…

As a nomad for the past 10 years, I’ve been more than aware of how my HEAR US mission —giving voice and visibility to homeless families and youth—is dependent on so many others. The Irish proverb, “In the shelter of each other the people live” encapsulates my reliance on so many people for my work to serve homeless families/youth.

Sunday, at the Church of the Bretheran in Topeka, I spoke about how we are all responsible for the wellbeing of our brothers and sisters. In light of mean-spirited policies and practices aimed at making lives of poor people even more miserable, we now, more than ever, need to care for those struggling against the tsunami of poverty and homelessness.

I don’t mean to imply caring for poor and homeless persons should solely be on people of faith. Nope! It’s a 3-legged stool. Government, local communities, and religious organizations combined are needed to reconstruct the shredded safety net essential for record numbers of families and youth without homes.

It’s humbling to realize how much people have done for HEAR US/me over the years. I started out 10 years ago—driving out of Naperville, IL late afternoon behind the wheel of my new (huge, albeit 27’ long) motorhome— as the roads clogged with commuters returning home. Tillie the Turtle, as I dubbed my rig, served as my dwelling, vehicle and office until last September when I downsized to Tillie2, a more svelte and fuel-efficient vehicle (both privately donated, not HEAR US funds).

Since Nov. 2005, I’ve parked in driveways of friends, faith communities, shelters, convents; in parking lots of the noisy, ubiquitous Walmarts and truck stops; and campgrounds of all sorts. I’ve mooched electricity that powered my revered space heater. I’ve filled my water tank for washing body and dishes. I’ve glommed onto wifi connections of friends and businesses. I’ve begged for donations and solicited paying speaking engagements. I’ve been welcomed into schools and shelters across the land, connected with the experts for their stories of homelessness and survival. I’ve been taught the basics of how to film and edit documentaries. I’ve been bolstered in ways too many to mention from my HEAR US board members. I’ve been showered with generous support from countless friends and strangers. But most of all…
…I’ve been gifted by the trust and friendship of children, youth and parents experiencing homelessness. 

My talk today centered around the heroes and sheroes of my travels. The veteran-dad who persisted at a grueling work schedule to eventually be able to move out of the dilapidated tiny camper he and his 3 teen boys and dog called “home” for too long; the military mom who, with her 4 children escaped domestic violence, doubling up with friends/acquaintances until they landed on their feet; and the mom and her 7-year-old daughter who have bounced around from bad situations to worse, not giving up hope.

Being able to film and share painful stories of homelessness among families and youth has been my mission for the past 10 years. No one else does it. I know our nation suffers from a dreadful lack of knowledge of the extent of family/youth homelessness. I’m honored to be the instrument.

I don’t often sit and reflect, much less write, on how grateful I am. If you’re one of the countless individuals who has helped HEAR US in any way, I can’t thank you enough. 

And if you’re someone who appreciates the unique, essential work of HEAR US, and you have the financial means to do so, I’m asking for your help. We’ve got a 10 Years, 10 Friends campaign going. We want as many people as possible to commit to a small ($10+) monthly, tax-deductible donation, and if possible, getting 10 friends to do the same. This gives HEAR US a solid monthly income stream so I can continue my efforts, needed more now than ever.

As I strive to maintain my compassionate perspective and the hutzpah needed to pursue our Quixotic mission to get our nation to change the way we look at homelessness, I am painfully aware of how I need you to shelter me. 

Dumb Move! Winter Ravages RVs, Even Tillie!

When I accepted the invitation to give a talk in Mokena, IL on Feb. 28, I naively hoped that winter would be in decline, so I said I'd drive up (from Kansas where I'm filming Worn Out Welcome Mat - KS) in Tillie2, my (sorta) roadworthy van/home.

I could have guessed that this weekend would mark the end of one of Chicagoland's coldest Februarys on record, and that Friday night's temps would bottom out at -9.

Even before that, the below-freezing Kansas temps where I had been parked managed to turn the contents of my gray and black tanks into nasty icebergs. I thought I sort of got them dumped during a mini-thaw, making a snoodge of room, but found out otherwise. OK, so fortunately for me, the places I've been parked have bathroom facilities accessible to me, so it's just discomfort.

All I can say is that I'm longing for Spring more than I ever remember. When I return to Kansas from Chilly-Illy next week, I've been promised spectacular temps, above freezing night and day for more than a day or two.

The good news in this winter learning experience: I've figured out the combo of how my two portable heaters can work in sync, without tripping breakers, giving me maximum warmth, as long as I have electricity. Now "maximum warmth" may be a relative term. When temps outside drop below zero, if it's above 50 inside I think it's warm!

One bleak reality I encountered at a dump site I frequent when I'm in the Chicago suburbs was the snow-covered hole, protected by a lock. The nice guy who came out to unlock it said, "We don't have many people using this during the cold winter months." Yeah, I can figure out why.

I've been on the road for a decade. I know what freezing temps do to liquids and solids. I should have known better, plying my tanks with the nontoxic RV antifreeze BEFORE February. But life interfered, now I'm paying the price.

If nothing else, it makes me better understand how people who end up homeless end up making "dumb" mistakes and dearly paying for them. And it gives me that humble reminder of my humanity (like I need it!).

It also is a painful reminder to me of how many millions of households, and house-less people, struggle with weather related challenges. Multiply my discomfort and annoyances--incalculable--for those struggling with basic human needs. Guess I quit whining now....

Check Engine Light: Stupid As Spam

For those of you following my travels on Facebook or through this blog, you might have picked up on some "issues" with my new Tillie2 that I acquired at the end of September 2014. Here's the latest...

Ironically, my previous vehicle, the venerable Tillie the Turtle, a 27' Gulfstream Class C motorhome,  my home/office/vehicle for 9 years (183,000 miles on it), despite the (ahem) sorta chintzy construction, was a pretty reliable vehicle, but gas mileage sucked wind (10 mpg).

Thanks to a small inheritance from my Mom's estate, I was able to (I thought) downsize/upgrade to the Sprinter van. At 24' it is smaller, especially narrower, lacking the abundant storage Tillie had. Diesel mileage exceeds 20 mpg on occasion! It drives like a dream. I've gotten used to the smaller footprint, inside and out. I've got to say my Mercedes-loving Mother is smiling upon me.

Sportsmobile in Austin, TX outfitted the Sprinter, and basically did a fine job, with a few unmentionable caveats that I think are fixed. The insides are cozy but efficient and solidly constructed. I was able to customize, based this time on experience, as opposed to Tillie's purchase when I was totally clueless.

The front end of the vehicle--the engine and dashboard--those are under the Mercedes-Benz warranty. And that's where I've been vexed.

The first sign of issues was back in October when Pat LaMarche and I were on our Babes of Wrath tour to Montana and surrounding states. I had just had T2 for weeks, and had read the manual but had not grasped the finer points. So when the dashboard lights lit up like a Christmas tree, with ominous warnings "Visit Workshop," and symbols that looked like nuclear weapon warnings flashing, well, I was dismayed.

The first time the light show occurred was in the middle of a reservation in South Dakota, far from a MB workshop or any vehicle service station. I kept driving as Pat scanned the owner's manual for clues. Since the vehicle seemed to be operating properly, I tried to not worry. Eventually, the lights went away. I don't know how. But I was happy they were gone.

I visited my first MB dealership for the 10k mile oil change/service thing. They were a tad not helpful, and other than doing the basic service, I didn't get any info about the problems I had encountered. But no lights were on, so I was happy.

But then, like Spam, lights returned. Intermittent. Ominous.  I visited another dealership. Sensor problems. Fixed them. The Check Engine (CE) light again blinked at me. Another dealer. Same routine.

By this time I'm annoyed. In one month I've spent more time in MB waiting rooms than I've spent in doctors offices for the past 40 years. I fired off a civil, but stern letter to the MB CEO. For credibility, I enclosed the mighty fine article the Naperville Magazine ran about me/HEAR US.

Within days I heard from Susan in the Customer Care department, addressing my concerns.  I will say I think she's sincere, and she offered ongoing assistance that makes me feel like I'm not the 2nd class citizen that some of the dealers seemed to convey (or at least I think they did). She volunteered to make a pre-visit call for my next service stop. I agreed. The dealership treated me royally. They addressed the issue properly.

But then (are you picking up on the theme?), the CE light reappeared. I'm en route to KS, so my possibilities were limited as was my time. Susan to the rescue. The dealership got me in and on the way within a reasonable amount of time.

Now I'm CE-light shy. I glance down, almost expecting my favorite little light to shine. I'd like to hide it under a bushel basket, but I worry that it won't be a benign sensor, so I pay begrudgingly attention like I do with my Spam folder, never knowing when the essential message might be lurking among the slime.

I think of Tillie, my gas-guzzling faithful "steed" of so many years. Nah, I'm not going to snatch her back, but it makes me appreciate the relatively trouble-free existence I took for granted (Thanks to Mike's Auto and Truck in DeKalb, IL for years of stellar, fairly-priced and hospitable service!)

Happy (Changed) Camper!

CHANGE

Change tends to be difficult, and my changing from "spacious" Tillie the Turtle, my motorhome (and only home) for the past 9 years was no exception. I made the switch to TillieToo, or T2, at the end of September, and it has been a, well, difficult transition.

Change (almost, if ever) never happens the way you intend. I'm almost to the point of thinking "why plan?" since my best laid plans hit the shredder on a fairly regular basis. Despite my best efforts, downsizing, and planning for a smooth move, didn't make a difference. Friends had needs and unanticipated interruptions kept me from focusing on the task at hand.

But would I have focused had I not been otherwise distracted? I don't know. I suspect not.

I have the wherewithal--mental capacity, financial means, support network--to handle change, and yet I struggle with it. I can only wonder what happens when others, less endowed with ability and resources, get the "opportunity" to change tossed at them.

My inability to smoothly cope with change might serve as a clue to remind me that everyone struggles. I might need a bit more practice to grasp this concept. Maybe (!) I'm a slow learner.

After 3 months of struggling with a few major glitches in T2's inner operations (you don't want to know, trust me!), I did what I could do to get it fixed. It meant a trip to Austin, TX where the vehicle was outfitted. Luckily, they worked with me and addressed the problem.

Bunches of lessons to be learned from this time of change. The most basic that needs my entire attention is GRATITUDE. It flips the bad to not-so-bad, or even better. And sometimes that's all you can do with a bad set of circumstances.

So this happy camper will continue to pursue her mission of providing opportunities for families and youth experiencing homelessness to share their stories (www.hearus.us). I'll try to keep in mind my recent episodes with change and use that perspective when I might be tempted to be judgmental, a shortcoming that I continue to struggle with despite my best efforts.

And I'll be grateful for the little things in my life that work, or that push me to look at what needs to change. Yeah.

Weird, Wonderful Disconnect

Internet, ubiquitous, except when it’s not. 

Little Tillie2 (rt)

After a hectic surge of preparing to disconnect from Tillie, my home-motorhome of 9 years, anticipating with some anxiety the acquisition of TillieToo, my new motorhome of smaller dimensions, and preparing for 2 talks and delivering 1 (one sabotaged by weather travel reality), I was ready for a new normal. 

Instead, I landed in a place where I’ll have very limited internet for a week, at a time I think I need it most.

My anxiety when not able to access internet in my travels has been off the charts. Now I don’t have phone or internet. 

The offsetting factor, being with a friend and her sister and their dogs in a peaceful, beautiful haven in the New Mexico mountains. 

Internet access is possible, but requires deliberate action as opposed to grabbing a device and hopping into the swirl.

My only news is what I absorb from the frenzied flow of TV news that gets turned on once in a while. My dismay at the choice of stories is only matched by listening to the blaring TV political ads and the warning-ladened pharmaceutical ads.

My world is different for a week, a change of pace that makes me appreciate what I take for granted. It’s hard, as hard as these kind of things can be in the scope of real world crises. I catch myself thinking more. Not sure if that’s a good thing, but it’s what we’re created to do. 

My friend commented about her fear that we will soon hit the wall when the techno-gurus run out of answers and solutions for the swarms of tech terrorism that seems to be out of control. I wish I could present a counter argument. 

In the meantime, I’ll clean my hard drive, a task that doesn’t happen when I’m so easily distracted by realtime online action. I’ll make time for hikes and talking with people. I’ll tweak the crammed storage in Tillie2, preparing for my first travel companion, Pat LaMarche, on our ambitious Babes of Wrath trip to Montana, Homeless On the Range. 

Life, ubiquitous, when you let it be.