Homelessness Guilt

Every morning when I walk to the Bart station to work, I pass by a number of homeless people. I might smile a little at a few of them, but I do not make direct eye contact out of natural fear. Sadly, I choose to never give them money because I am just not sure where the money will go - towards a drug or drinking habit, towards something that is less desirable in life, or towards a legitimate need like food and water. I just don't know. It's those few dishonest ones who ruin it for the ones who are truly just trying to survive on a donated nickle.

I wonder to myself, how did their lives get like that? I mean, it could happen to the best of us with just a stroke of bad luck, a string of unfortunate events, it could happen to you to me if we didn't have any family or friends to rely on when we found ourselves in a bad spot. It is sad. But then, I think, that I earned my place in this world by educating myself and by working myself up the career ladder, I shouldn't feel guilty for having what I have as it was not just handed to me.

I don't know, I feel a little torn every morning. I could spare a dollar here and a dollar there, but there are too many homeless people who beg for those dollars on a daily basis, how can this problem be truly satisfied if it's merely covered by a temporary band-aid of a few cents from my pocket to an unfortunately, unlucky homeless man? Is he/she ever going to help himself off the streets?

Could've Learned from the Master

My Grandma O. was the bomb at crocheting - she crocheted doilies, sweaters, scarves with such tiny detail, but we didn't appreciate them the way we should have while she was alive. It was her meditation, crocheting, knitting, it was her center and her way of joyously passing the time as her children and then grandchildren grew all around her, changed, the world changed, and she just contentedly crocheted to her heart's content.

I am starting a knitting class on Tuesday, bought my first few rolls of yarn and beginner needles today, helped out by a kindly lady at the yarn store. I could've learned from my Grandma, but I didn't really appreciate the art that she created then until now. Now I wish she was here to teach me all that she knew, all of her wisdom, all of her patience with her crocheting, knitting, with family, with the world. As long as she could meet needle to yarn in those intricate patterns, all was right in her world and that was always fine with her. Content, happy, simple - that's the way to be.

It Takes All Kinds

There are all kinds of men out there - jokey ones, strong ones, charming ones, kind ones, charismatic ones, handsome and hot ones - sigh! And, then there are the insecure ones, pushy ones, high-maintenance ones, self-centered ones, ones that just don't get it. All kinds - but it takes all of them to make you realize that the one you've got is the *BEST* one!