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.

OK! Oklahoma Backroad Travel Gems

OK! Oklahoma Backroad Travel Gems
(musings and photos by Diane Nilan, © 2014)

I appreciate the value of the Interstate system, initiated by that last great Republican, Dwight D. Eisenhower in the 1950s. But I also love the secondary, and third-ary pavement, too. Why? Today was a perfect example of the BR advantage. Strong winds compromise a vehicle's stability, especially taller ones, like 9’ Tillie2. Instead of dodging lane neighbors, I enjoyed weaving over lines without playing bumper cars. And, the bonus, I could swing through interesting towns and muse. And photograph. And learn.

Today's treasure chest included this statuary combo in El Reno, OK, a bleak oil industry town west of OK City. I did a UE (much easier in T2) and took a few shots. I'm not sure what this collection is all about, but I would have loved to get the story. I'll have to use my imagination.  But this person sure got serious about Lady Liberty. And the sea...?

Chickasha, OK had plenty of fascinating eye-candy, but the Verden Separate School sign got my attention. The "best 1-room school house" for, you guessed it, black kids (though I'll bet that's not how they were referred to back then). The concept of separate schools still exists, aka many public schools, as well as the illegal but still functioning schools for homeless students.

Moseying south on, yup, a secondary road, I was treated to more authentic OK sights. It was a rainy/stormy day, inspiring me to pull off into a gas station parking lot. Viola! Bargain divorces, a conflict with the Sooner State's largely Christian values, I suspect, but I guess Christians need to save money, too, especially when families are splitting up.

Plenty of old (you may insert "dead") towns along the route. I did some reminiscing back to my Dr Pepper days (I was a contrarian as a kid, rejecting Coke). I think this sign hearkens back to the good ol' 50s when high fructose corn syrup hadn't been devised.  Seeing the ever-darkening skies, I started to move on, but, last moment, I glommed onto the visual of the flag and (humble) Christmas decoration. Now, I mused, if "Jesus is the reason for the season" as the saying goes. Why do we have such pathetic birthday decor? Couldn't a local oil baron who got rich ravaging the land and people donate some nice decorations for the Savior?   Just askin'...

Stuff. We Americans have stuff. Wonder how many "antique" stores sell our trash, er, stuff? This one at least took a clever approach, using humor to evoke a chuckle from this stuff-adverse tiny home driver. I didn't stop to shop.

To my ongoing point of the death of many of American towns, I will use Ryan, OK as an example with their empty sidewalks. Rest assured I could find thousands of others. And what's with this raggy flag, flying, of all places, at the Ryan American Legion hall?!

Continuing to pick on Ryan, they might want to reconsider the "No Trespassing Oklahoma" sign. Just a tad on the hostile side. But it got me to smile!

I'll pick on TX with my next post. Thanks for traveling along!

(12/14/14)

Butt Kicked. Slimmed Down. Ready to Roll.

The past 6 weeks of life in a slimmed-down motorhome have, in some ways, kicked my butt. In other ways, I’m delighted. I’ve learned a lot…

Space matters. Less space means less stuff and wiser decisions about what goes and what must be given away or gotten rid of, tougher decisions than I thought. I’ve also needed to spend time figuring out the jigsaw puzzle of space in a cabinet—how to not waste an inch. Phew.

Being slimmer makes travel nicer—no more worries about squeezing through construction barriers or navigating thick traffic, well, at least not the oversized concerns I had. Weird to be able to park without going through angst about where I might fit. 

Tillie the Turtle,
my original--larger--motorhome

Now that I’ve gotten sort of organized—to the point of even getting my simple decor stuck on my limited wall space—I’ve got to say I’m happy that I’ve downsized. It goes beyond my ability to bypass gas stations and my marvel at filling up for $60-70.

TillieToo has pushed from my comfort level into a different space, with my awareness of how much I have (beyond what I need to survive). It’s a perfect opportunity for me to ramp up my gratitude.

We’re heading towards our national obsession with distorting holidays originally designed as times to to be kind and grateful—Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

No matter our religious persuasion (or lack thereof), we can take a few moments to absorb the reality that lots of people in our country and beyond are doing without even the basics. 

No matter our financial standing (or lack thereof), we can do something, at least consider with compassion the plight of millions in our country and the world who lack a safe place to sleep, food to eat, or access to medical care. If we’re able to do more than be aware and kind, even better!

I’m looking forward to the unknown challenges ahead. My nomadic lifestyle gives me opportunities for “afflicting the comfortable and comforting the afflicted” that I take as a personal challenge, even when my comfort is a tad less than I’d like it to be.

Thanks to my Mom, Ellie, whose passing in May 2013 made this phase of my journey possible. You’re laughing, me driving a Mercedes. Well, I’m laughing, too. I get to zoom past gas stations!

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.