What's Missing? One Key Indicator to Heed...

I'm getting ready to swing out on my 9th round of travels since I started HEAR US Inc. in 2005 to give voice and visibility to homeless children and youth. I've heard and seen lots in these 168,000+ miles. Recently I figured out one thing missing, a very revealing absence.

Smiles. OK, call me crazy but I look at people as I pass by on my mostly backroads' travels.

Elderly man walking out to get his mail. Frowning. Woman on mower. Grimacing. Mail carrier. Numb. Woman driving convertible. Wrinkled brow and downward mouth. Truck driver. Tight-lipped with a cigarette hanging out. Woman pushing baby stroller. Lost. Teen scooting on a skateboard. Isolated. Bicycle rider. Another world.

Interesting but impractical would be to stop and ask my non-smilers how things are going. I'd imagine I'd get an earful. And I don't need any more downer-stories. Working in the field of homelessness, as I have for the past 30 years, gives me enough sadness for a lifetime.

Walking on streets of mega-cities and mini-towns, I've also tried the look-people-in-the-eye gauge to see who makes eye contact and who practices "custody of the eyes." Smaller towns, by far, have people more willing to make eye contact.

Same too with the old-fashioned habit of waving. As a kid, my family had small boats and we spent tons of time traversing canals around Ft. Lauderdale and Pompano Beach, FL. We always exchanged waves with other boaters. Not so much now from what I've seen.

One exception to the waving phenomenon, on the highway, was a stretch of road in southern Nebraska. It was the 1-finger wave, steering wheel hand, kind of a "hey" in a laid back farm country kind of way that gave me something to look forward to on those rare instances when my path crossed another's.

But I've made another fascinating observation: those with the least going for them are the ones who both smile more and respond to a smile. Families and youth without homes, as well as the men and women on the streets and in shelters, seem to recognize the one gift we all can share no matter a person's financial standing.

Yeah, I know. People don't have a lot to smile about. Well, on one hand, I agree things are really tough and our human spirit is being daily tested. But on the other hand, after spending 3 weeks in Tanzania this summer, I also saw a lot of smiles from people who, by our 1st world standard, have very little. Abject poverty was the norm. Grueling living conditions were widespread. Creature comforts as we know them rare.

Not sure what I can extrapolate from all this except to remember that we all have the ability to convey a smile. And the smile, especially when combined with a kind word or two, is a potent tool for creating a wisp of happiness, when woven together wisp-to-wisp will make a full-fledged happy moment...which causes more smiles.

Join me on my travels. Well, at least follow along on Facebook. I'll friend you unless you're an unrepentant ax murderer. And if our paths cross at an event (sign up for our free 1x a mo. newsletter to see where I'm headed), come give me a smile. I need all those friendly looks I can get.

Bone Chilling Reminder

We're soft. I'm soft anyhow. I'm a creature-comfort-lovin' gal. So when it gets chilly in Tillie...

Now I really can't complain. In addition to the countless children, teens, women and men on the streets of our fine country without homes prior to Hurricane Sandy, many more folks are learning the hard way how it is to be chilled to the bone.

Electricity still stymied by dangling wires. Furnaces slimed with salt and silt grime. And progress too slow to beat the path of the nor'easter heading in Sandy's footsteps. It's ugly.

For proof of ugliness--the kind most of us have to acknowledge owning at least a part of--the tragic story of a mother whose 2 toddlers slipped out of her storm-wearied arms in New York this past week. Turned away as she begged for help, maybe because her dark skin fired up fear, her boys were washed away forever. Inexcusably.

The bone-chilling cold has settled in over the northern part of the country, showing no mercy for those without electricity after the storm. Well, lest we forget, far too many don't have heat in their homes thanks to the economic storms that have battered those with limited resources.

One noble effort to call attention to this atrocity is heating up in Bangor, ME, the freezy-ass capital of the U.S. Right outside Stephen King's radio station (yes, THAT SK!), my dear friend Pat LaMarche is freezing, intentionally, living this week in what is playfully dubbed the "Hobbit House," a doghouse-like structure that lacks a whole lot as far as protection from the cold.

She's raising money and, more importantly, attention for the issue of heating inequity. It boils down to millions of babies, toddlers, children, teens, parents and senior citizens unable to stay warm. Too expensive. Houses too riddled with poverty-induced gaps that allow cold air in and heat out. Households that go up in smoke when dangerous practices are employed to stay warm.

In every community, someone--besides homeless families--suffers from cold at some point. Those whose houses were whomped by Sandy can often be heard whining about their discomfort. It takes a whole lot of self-control (which I'm about to lose here) to not harshly remind them that people suffer lots worse every day. They do.

If the cold can cause us to huddle together and warm our hearts, then bring on an Arctic blast. Just make sure that I'm out of the path of the north winds. Tillie doesn't like cold.

To help the Pat LaMarche's gallant efforts, here's the link for donations. Do it. It will warm your cold heart, and will touch lives whose existence seems more than a little bleak. 

End to Civilization, or ???

What’s one consistent thread through my 150,000 miles of mostly backroads travel? My astonishment of how devastated our country has become.  I’ve traveled some of the same paths, and can’t help but notice the increased deterioration of communities as I rumble through: for sale signs, boarded-up businesses, unkempt municipal properties, more people begging on street corners…not good signs.

My HEAR US trip from IL to Houston at the end of September was no different. As I wended my way through Illinois highways, I remembered back to the 80s when we saw massive grassroots efforts, led by the likes of Willie Nelson with his Farm Aid, to attempt to stave off the disastrous bank takeover of family farms back in the good ol’ days. 

Not so much anymore, as the tsunami-like economy has managed to ravage those who would help out as well as those standing too close to the edge. With this destruction comes a lot of survival mode, every man for themselves, forget women and children into lifeboats first. We're a nation deep into denial.

And what a mess we’ve made of things. State governments, free to drift the way of political winds, are seeing themselves holding the shredded bag of former government—as in the feds—support. The very states where poverty is the worst are making plans to refuse to extend medical care to people who cannot afford insurance, slashing welfare for those "freeloaders" who haven't managed the bootstrap trick, kicking homeless families in the gut, tax burdens that they seemingly are. All in the name of political brutality.

I find myself wondering if the pace of the destruction of civilization as we know it will match the pace of technological advances. A trade-off if you will. Then my thoughts snap back to remember this world has lasted millions of years, having undergone major events that were nothing less that catastrophic. Becoming immobilized by today’s crises would do no good.

And I call to mind the good people I’ve met along these 150,000 miles, those who have offered support—moral, financial, spatial, and material.  In whatever way possible, we need to preserve and strengthen the thread of goodness, kindness, and justice. Weave it like a rescue line, and cast it to those who would otherwise be lost.

It’s the same story told generation to generation: rich and powerful bullies against the impoverished and seemingly insignificant masses. What keeps me going, among other things, is knowing the sweet taste of victory of the little ones over the big bad ones. The turtle beats the hare. Good over evil. Yeah.  I still believe, after all these years and miles. So stick around. It will get interesting.

If you are able, I’m asking that you consider being a monthly HEAR US donor. It can be a small amount, $5 a month is fine. You may do this on our HEAR US donation page. Your info is secure and your support is treasured.

Really?? Year 8 for HEAR US; Year 25 for Feds' Homeless Approach

I knew something was weird when I learned our HEAR US website was down recently. Emails bouncing back. Not good. What was the cause?

Well, 7 years ago, when HEAR US was born, the HEAR US website and email addresses were set up. My friend Ken Johnson, who took care of this task, asked me how long he should register it for. 7 years sounded logical.

We just re-upped for another 5 years. Maybe the world will end by then. Maybe not. Certainly homelessness will still be an issue, at least for families and youth.

In HEAR US' birth month of July, we also commemorate another anniversary: 25th year of the McKinney Act (now McKinney-Vento), the federal plan to coordinate homeless services.

My mentor/friend, Mitch Snyder, led the charge to get this mega-issue on the federal table way back then. Presidents have come and gone. HUD Secretaries have cycled, some into prison, and piles of plans and reports have received scant attention from the purse-holding Congress.

Homelessness changed from the visible scruffy guy stereotype, exploding across all populations as social safety nets were shredded. HUD has yet to catch on, resisting our plea to pay adequate attention to the millions of homeless kids, with and without families. (Check out our Help Homeless Kids Now website!)

HUD, stuck in their bureaucratic mud, continues to fight the essential move to align that agency's definition with other federal departments, resulting in a tragic skyrocketing of unsheltered families and youth.The Homeless Children and Youth Act, HR 32, could pave the way to change the way our nation looks at--and eventually deals with--homelessness.

So HEAR US has joined forces with like-minded organizations from across the nation to spell out what needs to happen a mere 25 years after Congress acknowledged homelessness.

Holding my breath? Nope. Turning in Tillie's keys? Nope. Quitting my efforts? Nope. 

I wish I could spend the time to list the impressive ways people have helped this improbable mission unfold and continue. It's amazing. The thoughts of your many kindnesses smooth the more than 148,000 miles of backroads and highways I've traveled.

Even more so, warming my heart and fueling my passion are the stories shared with me by courageous kids and parents experiencing homelessness. Yeah, those kids and parents who according to HUD don't exist.

I'm asking for something here...if you've read this far, kudos! HEAR US needs a modest influx of funding to keep going. A bunch of folks chipping in what they can afford will do the job. People buying our stuff helps too. We're one (we'd like to think worthy) cause among many. If you can help, please do so. And keep rooting for us.

Let's Start At the Very Beginning...Simple as ABC

Crossing the miles, in Tillie, my road-weary motorhome, I've been heartened by countless courageous homeless families and kids willing to share their stories. HEAR US Inc., my unconventional one-woman nonprofit, gives me a venue to share what I've learned about homelessness, particularly that of families, across the land. What I have learned, the ABCs of homelessness, has come mostly from those who experience life without a home.

Recently I enjoyed a reunion with a family I met and filmed last June for Littlest Nomads, our latest short film on the all-too-invisible issue of homeless babies and toddlers. Yolanda, Ken and boys, a delightful Long Island family, had been housed after their catastrophic period of homelessness. Sadly, they're homeless again. But they proudly sat in the front row of our Littlest Nomads screening.

I can't imagine what it would be like to have your image, and that of your homeless family, splashed on the big screen in front of strangers. This family's courage, and others like them, gives much needed voice and visibility to homelessness. Unbelievably some, including our elected officials and policy makers, still don't understand that MILLIONS of homeless families and youth comprise the bulk of the homeless population.

Surging poverty continues to ravage families. It doesn't take much to kick a family into the homeless abyss of destitution. And poverty-creation is now imbedded in our dysfunctional "welfare" systems of government assistance. HUD, the main federal agency charged with housing people, continues to fight our efforts to improve the way they count homelessness.

I watched this family as their images came up on the screen. The kids were smiling. Dad and Mom were somber, and Yolanda's tears could not be hidden.

Sadly, as more families tumble into deep poverty and homelessness, resources to help them are being slashed. Federal poverty policies are pathetic, creating more poverty than they're preventing.  The rich are undoubtedly getting richer.   Proof abounds that homelessness causes severe problems in homeless babies and toddlers. And bureaucrats seem determined to perpetuate homelessness.

At the end of Littlest Nomads, Yolanda, Ken and kids belt out the ABC's song, an annoying repetitive tune I included for one reason. Ending homelessness is like learning your ABCs. It seems difficult, but if you try you can do it. Yolanda, Ken, and countless more families could point out the basics to our government's leaders.

If you want to do something to help, urge your Congressperson to co-sponsor The Homeless Children and Youth Act, HR 32. Simple, just go to this link. It will help HUD rethink their approach to homeless families. They can use the remedial lesson. Makes me want to do a Julie Andrew's Sound of Music version of Do-Re-Mi. That'll get 'em.

Convergence: Catholic and Country

Convergence. Big word that, in this case, means amazing the way things came together. Today--International Women's Day--was one of those days. First the Catholic piece.

My Facebook page is fairly active (you're welcome to friend me!). I try to post items that encourage interaction, centered around my nonprofit, HEAR US Inc., or other related  topics. Today I heard from a woman who was a feisty 13-year old when I last saw her. Way back in 1974-75, Cathy sat in the class of 8th graders at a Catholic grade school where I malformed my students, teaching them to think for themselves. Being of English-Irish heritage in a Slovenian school, replacing Sister Dominic Marie who must have taught the grandparents of these kids, I was, um, not appreciated by most parents. I lasted a year there.

My surprise hearing from Cathy was doubled because she brought greetings from an old friend, Elizabeth, who was, and probably still is, a venerable lay leader in the Catholic church where I was quite active from the mid-70s until 1990. Liz and I taught together, conspired (for the good) together, and respected each other as the out-of-the-box thinkers we both tried to be.

Country. Fast forward to this afternoon when I landed in Savannah, hoping to interview parents and unaccompanied youth who are homeless, those "not homeless enough" to be considered really homeless by HUD, the US Department of Housing and Urban Development. Persons who've lost housing due to crisis and are staying with friends/family or others, in motels, and/or are bouncing between couches, motels, and other places aren't counted by HUD in their annual census. It's another story, but if you're curious, go to our website, http://helphomelesskidsnow.org for more info.

Savannah, this vibrant, picturesque community, is also the birthplace of Juliette "Daisy" Gordon Low, founder of the venerable Girl Scouts. My Girl Scout sash, filled with merit badges, was my pride for many of my preteen to teen years. I pugnaciously bought a box of GS cookies this week in honor of the Indiana congressman who ranted about Girl Scouts destroying America, "bent on promoting communism, lesbianism and subverting 'traditional American family values,' according to MSNBC.com."

So, convergence. I'm here in Savannah on the 100th birthday weekend of the Girl Scouts. My mission is, as it has been for over 25 years, in some way helping homeless persons. This recent news story outlines my involvement. Mary Ann Lopez, the adept reporter, had asked why I do what I do? How did I get started?

I'd have to give credit, in part, to the Girl Scouts, with their other-focused mission. And my Catholic upbringing, with the Joliet Franciscans working furiously to true-up my moral and spiritual compass as I cantankerously stumbled through my grade school through college education under their influence.


Convergence, Part 2. With much dismay I read my homelessness-theme news headlines tonight as I sit in Tillie, my motorhome/office/vehicle, parked in a social service agency's lot in Savannah. A shelter director in Sacramento, CA had expressed support for abortion rights and gay marriage. Her shelter receives (a piddly amount of) funding from the Sacramento Diocese. Make that received. They are ending their support of Francis House because of her remarks.  

For that very reason I will stick around until Saturday for the centennial events celebrating 100 years of Girl Scouting. I will proudly stand with my non-conformist sisters whose subversive influence has led me to a life of service with the people rejected by money-grubbers and robber barons.

St. Francis and Juliette Daisy Gordon Low would be pleased.

Power to the Campers! (And Bring on the Politicans!)

James, one of the coordinators of Camp Hope

When is "camping" not really camping? When it's done for survival.

Sadly but predictably, the theme of "ending homelessness in 10 years" has faded like the Wendy's iconic commercial asking "Where's the beef?" The hucksters that sold the bill of goods to the unquestioning lawmakers and the public really didn't pay attention to (or give a rat's ass) how this strategy would work with the economy tanking (even in the early 2000s some folks were coming up short).

So now we have a slogan and no money (they say) to end homelessness. What's a woman (or man) to do? Camp. Well, if you can call survivalism camping.

Last week on my western leg of my HEAR US tour, I visited a municipally-sanctioned campground in Las Cruces, NM. Camp Hope, the latest addition to the Community of Hope, a campus on the edge of LC with services for the desperate and disenfranchised, was set up in November to accommodate at least some of the hundreds of homeless men and women roaming this mid-sized city's streets.

It gets cold here. And hot. And the gospel mission across from Camp Hope which houses those willing to pray for their place in a crowded dorm room still has plenty of customers. Folks still roam the streets, and sleep wherever they can when they can. It's a hell of a life.

Perhaps the brightest spot of this short-term venture (it's slated to close in March--just in time for the winds and crappy weather to blow in) are the guys who've organized it and the attitude of the "campers" who occupy this dusty patch behind the Community of Hope building.

Matthew and James are the dream team coordinating this effort. They share the Camp Hope office trailer--as administrators and as residents of CHTC--a tough combo to balance. One compensates for the other--PR spokesperson, as impressively demonstrated in this Jan. 1 article in the Albuquerque Journal.  But they both take their responsibilities seriously, and they're both rightfully proud of what they've done.

They should be. As the founder of the nation's 1st municipally-sanctioned Tent City in Aurora, IL way back in 1990, I know of the challenges this type of establishment presents. The findings of my unannounced visit would earn them a 5-star rating. Safety, respect, responsibility...those are priorities.

One caveat--which we discussed--was that their success might lull the unenlightened to think that sleeping under the stars, albeit under a nylon wall--would be considered a solution to homelessness, much like the snake oil salesman promised in the early 2000s.

The other critical issue --homeless families are still shelter-less in Las Cruces. That hurts my heart the most. As it should all the leaders and citizens of this otherwise delightful community of the City of Crosses.

What these enterprising guys prove is that people without homes are not without the ability to accomplish great things. They've committed to the concept of communal responsibility and neighborliness far more than the hoity-toity folks in fancy digs.

Maybe going backwards is a good thing. Sure will be lots of us looking for nice neighborhoods for our campers and tents. They invited me to join them. With gas prices heading upward, it's a tempting offer! At the very least the presidential candidates should stop by.

Seems to me Mayor Ken Miyagishima has an important issue in his 2nd term of office. Make sure families have a safe place to stay when they lose their housing. I think with all the big-box stores shuttered he might consider setting up a family version of Tent City inside, using tents to provide "rooms" for parents and kids. He can get valuable pointers from James and Matt about empowering people and campground logistics.

Echos of Irony in the Library of Congress

Ornate. Impressive. Unparalleled. Historic. Ironic.

Last week, after a grueling but good day of getting kids in front of congresspersons to talk about how sucky homelessness is (because the kids know firsthand), the gang HEAR US transported from PA for the event were headed for the subway station. The 16-year-old girl, Ashley, asked if we could stop in the Library of Congress.

I was tired, but agreeable, and everyone seemed to want this detour, so I said sure. Ironically, for all my trips to DC, for my history of being a stellar library club member in high school, and my love of books, I've never been to the Library of Congress.

It was late, about 4:30, and they closed at 5, but we were right there. The kids scattered within eye-shot, and were being good. Leslie, one of the 2 moms in our group, and I ended up standing together--first marveling at the astounding beauty and history before us--then talking about her and her family's fall from housed to house-less.

The story was as unique as everyone's, stereotypes be damned. Homelessness happens to all kinds of folks. Her life was as "normal" as could be. She's educated, has a work history deserving of a congressional medal of honor, and she's tried to do the right thing for her kids.

The thread that seems to flow through lives of those without homes is a string of bad luck. Health problems, mechanical failures of a car, and unscrupulous employers seemed to do the trick for her. From housed and independent to unhoused and dependent on others, teetering on a thin-ice support system, her tumble into the vortex of homelessness was in many ways ironic.

What struck me, as she quietly laid out to me how her life shattered, was the irony--her story would make a good book. She's telling this tale in the palatial surroundings of the Library of Congress, where her kids romped enthusiastically, marveling at this massive tribute to knowledge--teeming with volumes of every kind of information. But we evidently lack the wisdom needed to address homelessness.

As we talked, Ashley copied all of the quotes high on the walls in the Great Hall, including:

THEY ARE NEVER ALONE THAT ARE ACCOMPANIED WITH NOBLE THOUGHTS
Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586), Arcadia (1590)

Teachers have reminded students time after time: our noble thoughts keep us from being alone. But thoughts are not enough. We need to act upon them--at least the noble ones.

Maybe, in our quest for learning, we ignore what we have before us. TMI? We know more than we need to know to make the world right, or at least to provide the bridge between the nomadic lives millions find themselves in and a secure, basic existence that would be a welcomed improvement.

Perhaps our next Capitol event should be a one-on-one Library of Congress tour with Members of Congress led by an expert in homelessness--the parent, youth or kid who can explain how they got into this situation, and be wise enough to point to the path out of it.

By the time the tour ended it would be perfectly clear--those elected officials accompanied by noble thoughts, and those who should be left alone.

From The Help! Obama Needs a Tillie Tour

The Help has hit middle class America, perhaps just in time. I accompanied 2 northerner friends the other night to watch what has to be one of the more promising movies of the summer. At least I recognized its title, having read the book a few years ago.

Watching, as I did while reading, I couldn't help but be caught up in memories of Minnie Sanchez (sp?), pictured here. While growing up in the South, Pompano Beach, FL, in the early 60s, with hard-working parents who needed help watching their 5, um, precocious kids. We were under Minnie's capable supervision who for $1 an hour got to rein us wild ones in while cooking and cleaning.

As a now sorta mature adult, I reflect on Minnie's role in shaping my character. I give her huge credit for my value system. She gets no blame for my flaws. In addition to keeping the 5 of us out of the emergency room or juvie hall, she managed to do the fried chicken thing much like Minnie in the movie. And raised her 13 children, with a husband that I have no recollection of, and a dog, Did-He-Bite-Cha, in a small concrete block house on the edge of town.

The Help identifies "acceptable" slavery of the 20th Century, which continues in different ways today. Although the film is a refresher course for how far we've come in overt race relations, it raises the third-rail issues of racism and classism that still ravage the poor and bottom layer of the middle class today. Don't hit that delete button yet.

Sure, we've made progress on issues like minimum wage, working conditions, and even let people of color sit on any seat in the bus. But looking at options for the transportation-challenged segment of the population, I'd suggest buses, adequate sidewalks and bike trails, as the Atlanta area (and many communities) demonstrate, have a long way to go.

A blatant case of who-cares-about-the-poor blues can be seen in the case where Raquel Nelson failed to keep her 4-year-old boy in check as she, with 2 other children and a load of groceries, tried to return to their public housing abode on foot, crossing a 5-lane highway with no pedestrian accommodations. Horribly, the little boy was struck and killed in front of them by an impaired, inebriated driver. He got less jail time than the courts gave her. Read Yolanda Pierce's post about it...and share my outrage.

Barbara Ehrenreich, acclaimed author of Nickeled and Dimed, recently penned an update to her insightful and accurate book which came out in 2001. Ehrenreich reflects, "The most shocking thing I learned from my research on the fate of the working poor in the recession was the extent to which poverty has indeed been criminalized in America." It's another book, Barbara.

I'm disgusted, but not surprised, by the righteous, misguided indignation of opinion-spewers who parrot the Heritage Foundation's recent much-skewed dismissal of poverty in this country.  And mean ol' Governors like Scott (FL), Walker (WI) and Snyder (MI), continue to do their fair share fueling the anti-poor, kick-the-dog venom we witness everywhere today. Nice.

No matter that many of the ranters are in the endangered middle class, as pointed out in Donald Beck's thoughtful article in Atlantic Magazine. He suggests, "Yet if that period [post-war 20th century] was unusually kind to the middle class, the one we are now in the midst of appears unusually cruel."

Which brings me back to The Help. Most folks cringed at the mean-spirited treatment the colored maids got by their entitlement-distorted masters and mistresses (is that the right word?!). Hopefully our collective progress on socially acceptable behavior makes the most flagrant, unfair actions, well, wrong.

But I'd suggest that today's version of The Help could include the wage-slaves and unemployed, homeless families and those facing foreclosure, ex-offenders and petty criminals, welfare parent and undocumented immigrant. They could, I'm afraid, all write of their disdain for their situations and their distaste for society's priorities. But we've closed libraries and emasculated public education, out-priced television and internet access and enfeebled public broadcasting, and removed pens and papers from the incarcerated while compromising access to higher education.

Help! Now's when I wish I had a big ol' rabid dog named Did-He-Bite-Cha. But Minnie's ghost wouldn't let me do what I'm thinking....guess I'll have to be nice and offer Obama a real tour of America. Wanna ride shotgun with me? Bring your gas credit card.




 

When You're Hot, You're Hot

 I'm hotter than the "hotties."

I'm certifiably hot. By choice (a combination of practicality and preference) I’ve cast my lot with the air conditioning “have-nots,” swimming in sweat during this sultry summer as I sleep in my toaster oven motorhome. My lifestyle inspires perplexed looks from friends and acquaintances who generously offer a guest bedroom which I graciously refuse. “Tillie,” my RV, is my humble home. When I can reduce my carbon footprint I do. And I don't appreciate the AC's sound of a helicopter landing on my rooftop while my propane tank gets empty. So I sweat in solidarity with the homeless families I advocate for.

The puzzlement of friends is one thing. The cluelessness of those who obliviously surround themselves with climate control comfort is another. Their world is far from mind in so many ways. And that’s OK, though I can vacillate between resentment and jealousy depending on my discomfort. My tactile experience helps me understand why folks are hot and bothered about the debt debacle. But I am far from the only one sweating.

A senior citizen, Arlene, a nurse by profession, bought a modest townhouse many years ago. A spiraling turn of events leaves her now painfully infirm, and the AC unit in her home broken for 3 years. She's so broke she can't fix it, nor can she take her ailing dog to the vet. Arlene, by my way of thinking, is one of the millions of folks who don't factor into the Beltway decisions on how money is spent. She and her sick dog sweat and no one seems able to do anything. It costs money. We don't have any.

Intra and inter party frustration abounds, spreading like Super Bowl fever to the “fans” of Beck, Bernie, Biden, Barack and company. Save, spend, tax, trickle-up, trickle-down, stimulate, slash, all represent positions that adherents will righteously fight for, despite the consequences. Convinced of their “solution,” their opponents become the enemy. No ground for understanding or compromise. And no regard for those like Arlene who suffer day in and day out.

Riling up the “troops,” hateful half-truths spew over airwaves and internet, firing up supporters and foes or repelling the silent, frustrated electorate. Differences become magnified, intensified like the brutal heat of an unreasonably scorching summer day. It’s these differences that hold a key to understanding.

Many people who live in climate-controlled comfort don’t understand, or perhaps appreciate, those who cannot or will not choose that lifestyle. The groups become, by virtue of weather protection, isolated. Resentment builds. Entitlement surges. Righteousness spews. And differences are exaggerated. 

Runners who sweat smugly think they understand, and a bootstraps mentality usually results. See, I do something, I sweat, I shower and go to work in my nice air conditioned office. You too should do this. 

Those who live in perma-chilled areas (where are they so I can go there?!) don't get it, this talk of sweat-induced stickiness. Those who live in jungle-like climates and have adapted nicely to their underwear being wet all the time think we're wusses.

The haves, those with access to ample AC, can lose connections with those who toss and turn on humid nights. Stink and sweat separates. Disdain grows. 

Now I don't begin to believe that our economic malaise is simply a difference between those who stay cool and those who don't. But the key to compromise is understanding. And until you walk the mile, or sweat the bucket-load, you don't understand the other person's perspective. If you don't understand a group of people, um, like those in poverty, you're not gonna give a rat's ass about their well-being.

One of the many humbling lessons I've learned as I lean into my 7th year of Tillie-living is that I need to sharpen my understanding of those who are different than me--the pristine, sweat-free policy makers who have deemed the impoverished masses in this country to be doomed to misery.

Clueless? Confused? Cruel?

I walked around a swanky Portland, OR mall, seething. The irony of me parking Tillie in swanky mall parking lots, my grungy, road-weary motorhome/office bearing signage referring to homelessness, usually makes me chuckle. Not tonight.

Earlier I had a conversation with a long-time friend who is, um, worlds apart from me in some ways. She's a financial planner. I'm a former shelter director turned national activist-filmmaker for homeless families and youth. Our paths crossed at the shelter I ran. "Jackie" led her church's group of volunteers who served on a monthly basis.

The conversation that has me (still) seething was irrelevant, except when Jackie sorta snapped at me as I expressed hesitation to raise postage on our HEAR US stuff because, well, I don't want to gouge our customers. "The economy isn't doing as bad as people say," snarled my Republican friend, who went on to say if people would be hurt by tossing another buck for postage, well...and I'm not sure what she may have said after that. My ears shut down.

Perhaps I hang with the "wrong" folks, skewing my perspective about how well the economy is doing. After all, here in OR where I spent several days last week rubbing shoulders with people who work for the schools or run homeless shelters, I can't tell you the number of conversations I had with people who themselves or someone close to them was losing their job, having hours cut or some version of financial suffering.

Walking to Borders (one of the chain's still-open stores) to grab 2 paperbacks I was looking for, I searched for the economic lens to change my vision. This outdoor mall was not brimming with consumers. The conversation between 2 Borders' employees was about schedule cuts. I stood in line with families that seemed to be doing OK. At least the mall wasn't filled with stores that have gone out of business.

I saw a security guard, one of those underpaid deceptive bastions of safety, and resisted the urge to ask him if all was well with his financial status.

My morning news read included a story about quality teachers and their paltry pay scale. One respected teacher goes from school to a part-time job which gets him home after 11 at night. It's the only way he can make ends meet for his family, a sacrifice to say the least, for him, his family, and I suspect his students.

The workers in this tony mall probably would argue the "good economy" theory. I often wonder what the Whole Foods' associates think as they package meat costing more than their paycheck and handing it to a clueless customer. Sure, they're happy for their jobs, but the gap between what they earn and what they need to survive, much less get ahead grows, along with it disenchantment.

My perspective of the economy may be colored by a few numeric indicators:

• The number of children in this country living in poverty is at a record high, 25%. I see kids living in poverty and what it does to them. Not pretty.
• The number of foreclosures and related evictions continues to skyrocket, with millions losing their homes--their American Dreams--each year. The emotional (and other) damage that occurs when a household is sinking into foreclosure is, well, ugly.
• The number of kids in school who have no homes is well over a million, with school districts nationwide reporting numbers doubling. This number has shot up during our economic (boom, bust, you pick).
• The number of homeless infants and toddlers spending their formative years without a home is at least hundreds of thousands, probably over a million (the subject of our new documentary, "Littlest Nomads," that I'm filming this month).
• The number of people on waiting lists for subsidized housing is off the charts--waits up to 10 years, meaning housing insecurity and increased risk of homelessness.
• The number of people turned away from shelters, or not finding shelters at all, is not accurately documented by government entities, but anecdotal accounts from a variety of sources confirm homelessness is on the significant, tragic rise.
• The number of shuttered businesses and "For Sale by Owner" signs I've seen as I've traversed this nation's backroads is incalculable.Trust me. It's huge, and under-reported.

I could continue. but that list was therapeutic...for me.

Being right, as I sure I am, is no prize. It causes me to wonder about my friend Jackie and countless other clueless, confused, and sometimes cruel people. Is it Darwinian denial? Or is it a concerted effort to wish away poverty and homelessness just by saying it ain't so?

Seems to me we should get a good public relations firm to convince people that poverty and homelessness are alive and well. The message--in the many forms we've tried to present it--doesn't seem to be working. 

In a World of Hurt-Opportunity and Solidarity

No one likes to suffer. And some of us don't like to see others suffer. That's why I do what I do (activist for homeless families and youth). I'd have to say my friend Christi Parsons nailed it right when she said I'm someone who likes "to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable," (19^th century Chicago humorist Finley Peter Dunne). So my abhorrence to suffering does have some caveats.

I don't know if it's just the hyper quantity (and hyping) of news we get nowadays, or if it's my hyper sensitivity to it. But it seems that globally we have an overabundance of stupidity and greed, to pick 2 most obvious characteristics. Having brushed up against those 2 un-virtues in Calhoun, GA last week, I'm still seething. 


This link will fill you in on what you need to know about the 2 legislators who allegedly caused the Oglethorpe Inn, a rundown "motel" to go belly-up pushing 80 people to the streets. Fortunately, 3 women spearheaded incredible efforts to find at least temporary housing for the displaced--families with kids and single men and women. Most people rely on government disability payments for their income, not enough to afford a regular place to live, security deposits, etc., one reason why they're in this dire situation.


The people hurt by this upheaval, in many cases, were the most vulnerable folks in Calhoun. They've been chewed up and spat out by society. Some are so broken--physically and mentally--that it hurt me to see them hurting so bad. Even their pets were hurting. It was profoundly sad to witness. Even sadder to experience firsthand.


What seems to be a positive turn, with all the protests going on in this land and across the seas, the powerless are starting to find their voices, and their shoes, and their protest signs. I hope it's not too late. Some of us have been begging people to take a stand against injustice and greed for years. We're all slow to jump on something that seems remote to us, like homelessness.

But with homelessness spreading like kudzu in urban and non-urban areas alike; with greedy bankers and mortgage lenders creating housing havoc and global economic mayhem; with employment shriveling like a baby too long in bathwater; and with union wages and benefits, health care and mental health services being slashed so budgets can be "bogus-balanced"...homelessness is getting an unwanted second look by many.


I'm not saying this is a good thing--that homelessness is now more real to more people than ever--but it does make it easier to inspire action. That's what I'm hoping, that you're willing to act. Here are 3 simple petitions (don't even need to get up!) that will collectively nudge some positive action:

• Help bring some "hurt" to those who allegedly caused the motel to shut down. LINK
• Get President Obama to invite me to the White House to screen our powerful new documentary, "on the edge," 7 women's stories about their homelessness. LINK 2
• Urge Jon Stewart (The Daily Show) to focus his humorous wrath on the city leaders of Gainesville, FL so they'll lift the inane feeding limit on their soup kitchen. LINK 3 

 If this isn't enough--get out and act. Here are some suggestions:

• Volunteer and/or support your local shelter or program that helps vulnerable families, youth and adults.
• Collect needed items (new socks and undies are always needed) on a regular basis (don't wait for holidays, or make up your own holiday!).
• Follow the HEAR US Compassion Epidemic page and share the call to action. 
• Get copies of on the edge and My Own Four Walls. Watch them. Get groups to see them. 
• Sign up for the free, no-hassle HEAR US e-newsletter, and share it with friends.

Seems to me we need to get off our collective duffs before they get kicked 6 ways to Sunday. Probably good to remember that unless you're one of the few uber-rich, a category that I'm not in, you're in danger of the things you most fear. There. Feel better now? I just shared the affliction!