Homeless in Long Beach

Orizaba Park

2012-01-29T22:17:00.000-08:00

I think I wrote this; that I planned to go to Orizaba Park the other Saturday (or was it Sunday?) ~ nah think I wrote on Facebook status update. Um, yes, I remember now. Etta James died. Friend lives in Santa Cruz, California; she posted a video: Etta James, "Stormy Weather"; unrelated to that, she posted about the rain, and wind up her way. Told me, it was heading down my way.

In the morning, it was raining, so I posted video for her, "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" and said I was going to take a walk to see grand "re-opening" of newly redeveloped park ~ 'cause I don't mind raindrops falling on my head. It was a Saturday. Changed my mind. Not due to the rain, due to John's noise, and his being home.

The park now has a fenced in skateboard park, lots of "healthy" equipment. I tried out the stair stepper ~ something would be good for me to go there and do daily.

Interesting new design water fountains ~ no drains at all. Water runs down the center slope, onto the ground and I guess, maybe into the drain hole on the ground.

While I was at Orizaba Park, I was thinking about the guy got killed when he was playing basketball there...

Project Sunshine

2012-01-28T20:22:00.000-08:00

Project Sunshine is a small non-profit organization in Allentown, Pennsylvania. Their aim is: "To support the members of our community in their time of need, and work towards a greater good."

Among other things, Project Sunshine volunteers have prepared and served breakfast at The Victory House of Lehigh Valley in nearby Bethlehem, PA. The Victory House is a homeless services organization whose facility has 40 beds to provide for transitional housing. Or in my words, a year-round homeless shelter.

Why does this interest me? I live 3,000 miles away from Allentown, but my two daughters and their husbands own homes there. They and the banks, that is, mortgages and all of that. They are friends (or could be called extended family) of the founders of Project Sunshine.

Daughter Dawn and husband Mike have participated in cooking and feeding homeless area residents at The Victory House.

I do not know what a Motorcycle run is exactly other than a fundraiser and lots of motorcycles on display. The 2012 event is being held on June 30th. See Project Sunshine's new website for more info.

Another Rant

2012-01-27T21:53:00.000-08:00

9:45PM ~ I listened to Chris cough for an hour or more. He was in John's kitchen. Have not heard John's voice at all today. The smell from whatever Chris was cooking in John's apartment was nauseating me. I guess Chris has John's kitchen window open ~ the odor drifting along the complex wall entering my apartment through Great Room window. Except I can smell it in my kitchen also, though not as strong.

Now the radio is on. I am guessing radio, except it is the same sound I have heard many, many days and nights. Sounds like laughter, and squealing. Maybe it is Chris watching John's porno movies. Except I went out front, walked to John's bathroom window, sounds like a radio coming from bathroom or maybe the small hallway/closet area.

My bathroom door is shut as I have been forced to keep it ever since John moved in next door. I was so tired I could have fallen to sleep at 8PM ~ I guess once Chris' coughing in John's kitchen started up, I started getting agitated to wakefulness.

I need to get up early tomorrow to get to Food Bank by 830AM. Usually not an issue. Except all those mornings after all those nights of John blaring his TV/radio/stereo. Kept awake late; fitful sleep; wake groggy & tired; some mornings going back to sleep until past 8AM.

Then there was Phil...

Phil

2012-01-27T20:53:00.000-08:00

Shortly after I woke this morning, someone was rattling on Chris' screen door. Stops, starts, stops, starts up again. Usually when people visit Chris, they are calling out his name. Oh, I guess that is some (insert foul language) rattling on my screen door.

I am not dressed; okay, I do have on my sleep clothes, but have not washed face, put away bedding. Could it be the handy men? They show up early, but normally I would know they were going to be coming to do whatever they would be coming to do. I put laptop down, get up, peek out blind to see who is disturbing my peace at 7:30AM. I see a man, back turned towards me. I am guessing: Phil. Puck him, go sit back down, pick up laptop and continue reading whatever news article I had been reading when the rattling disrupted my concentration.

Thank you, he got the hint and left.

Took my bath/shower, sleeveless, v-neck shirt, boxer shorts on. I am going out; not sure it is hot enough for shorts. Doing whatever I was doing on Internet when someone starts rattling on my screen. Might be close to noon, so I yell, "Just a minute." I finish clicking whatever I was clicking ~ Facebook game, most likely. Rattle, rattle, rattle, hear Phil say to someone "Mary...", not clear. I again yell "Just a minute, I will be right there."

I put laptop down, yell a third time, "I'm coming, I have to go get pants on." I increase volume of my voice each time, I yell it: JUST A MINUTE!!!

I had fan running to drown out Chris' LOUD coughing, talking, giggling like a school girl. Since I did not open bathroom window to air it out ~ knowing Chris is in courtyard ~ I have fan blowing towards bathroom, in doorway. I trip, almost knocking down the fan, yelling to Phil, yet again "GETTING PANTS ON".

Sigh. Now I could just have opened the door in my skimpy outfit ~ I have worn skimpy outfits to go to beach or even parks ~ but I am feeling too exposed. By the time I get baggy shorts and t-shirt on, Phil is gone from my door. Easy enough for me to open it, step outside to see if he is at his door, yell down at him ~ but I can not stand the sound of his monotone voice. Not just the sound of his voice, the dull way he has of talking and even duller things he says.

Not hearing John; Chris' door now closed and no sound from him, I go out to check mail. Doug is sitting outside as he often does; must not have seen me, did not return my wave. Since Phil did not come out, or running up to mailbox, went back inside. Oh, yeah, I could have walked down to his apartment to see what was so important he had to rattle the door to my bedroom.

I have a fairly good idea that he wanted to tell me the Food Bank is tomorrow. Then I think: maybe it was cancelled, did not get e-mail from Bobby today. Did get one last week to say the date was the 28th ("some confusion").

It was a nice day, though, went to post office to pick up a flat rate mailing box, then to park to see if they installed rest rooms. Nope. Enjoyed the hot sun as I read for a while. A tiny, greased lightning spider kept heading towards me on the concrete bench, then heading back, up and over arm rest, then back to seat, heading my way, back to arm rest. I kept looking up to check up on it. Resisted urge to take off sneaker and whop it.

I often tell bugs, "well, you should have stayed outside...", so felt it would be unfair to kill the thing. It finally disappeared in a crack. I got up, checking to see if it decided to sleep there and it was gone. Maybe wrong crack. Others nearby had holes in them. Then I am thinking the crazed spider was crawling around inside the bench and would soon find another hole to exit, and bite me on my back.

If not for the spider, I am sure I would have stayed out a whole lot longer.

Four OC homeless stabbed to death

2012-01-26T23:02:00.000-08:00

Between December 20, 2011 and January 14, 2012, four homeless men were stabbed to death while they slept. 23-year-old Itzcoatl Ocampo was arrested and charged with the murders committed in different Orange County, California cities.

Ocampo was captured on January 14, 2012 after stabbing the last victim behind a Carl's Jr. Donald Hopkins was shopping in a nearby CVS when a man ran into the store yelling for help. Hopkins ran outside, saw Ocampo, stabbing the victim. Noticing Hopkins, Ocampo took off on foot, pursued by Hopkins, who slowed to call 911. Hopkins was able to point police in direction Ocampo was running.

I not only stopped writing about homeless mentions in books I read, but also stopped reporting about homeless news stories. I followed this story, very interested in photos of the victims. I was homeless in Orange County, though never spent any nights sleeping on the streets, just in the Armory shelter. I met a lot of James and Jim's while on the streets. Might I have known, however briefly, the first victim 53-year-old James McGillivray? Without a picture, hard to say. Knew very few last names of homeless people I met during my homeless days.

As I followed the story as it progressed, my mind drifted to images of homeless men, curled up in sleeping bags, in various places around Long Beach. Safety in numbers comes to mind. I consider myself lucky, that I was never harmed; more often than not, I slept apart from the crowd; solitary sleeper, perfect potential victim.

Of interest to me in this story as reported by the Los Angeles Times, the Assn. of Orange County Deputy Sheriffs gave Hopkins a plaque and $5,000. reward for the role in played in capturing the killer before he continued his homeless killing spree. Also, along with the association, the Anaheim Police Association donated $5,000. to Mercy House, which provides services to homeless people. A nice gesture.

http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-homeless-killings-20120126,0,5738536.story

The Kid

2012-01-25T22:32:00.000-08:00

Always feel like I am three days behind. Behind what? Schedule? I do not work, so there is no schedule, just floating, waiting, waiting for what, I do not know. My weeks start on Tuesdays because that is when libraries are open. Also, Friday, Saturday, Sunday nights are when John is at his worst. I think those are his off nights from work, thus home pounding, thumping, slamming stuff around his apartment all day long, and then there is the music.

Monday is recovery day. If he gives me peace Monday night, I start feeling normal on Tuesday. If.

In-my-head schedule says: go downtown on Tuesday. Weeks go by and finally I go downtown on some day of the week. Had a list of books I wanted to check out of Main library. Put one back after "The Kid" by Sapphire caught my eye. I was looking at the new "black" fiction (or is that now called Urban fiction?) book rack/shelf, to see if Walter Mosley had any new books.

Next day, Walter Mosley posts a link to a book review on his Facebook page. New book in his new McGill series. Anyway...

I forgot until I started typing that "Kid" was a high school nickname bestowed upon me by Nancy Hall. Perhaps why the book caught my eye. Heavy, thick book, was reason I put the other heavy book back on the shelf from whence it came. I was heading to Walmart after library, maybe buying a something-to-cook with heavy-something. Rice cooker? Electric fry pan? Toaster oven? Checked out selection, did not buy anything.

Have stopped recording about homeless mentions in books. There are several in The Kid. (10:16PM, loud bang startles me; John in kitchen, what is he does that makes that sound)

"Or I'll be fucking homeless."

Gist of story: boy's mother dies when he is 9-years-old. He is put in the system, which puts him in a foster home. Gets beat up and abused by another foster child in the home. Gets put in hospital. Gets head drained of fluid that built up due to the beating; gets somewhat well; put in Catholic orphanage. Gets sexually abused. Gets kicked out of orphanage when he is accused of sexually abusing a younger boy. Taken to live with a great-grandmother he never knew he had.

And so on.

His great-grandmother's apartment is filthy, overrun by roaches. He has some psychotic episodes; self-injury the psych docs would call it. He wants to leave, but he is only 13. Considering his options, might end up homeless.

Years pass; the kid sees someone he knew from orphanage. "He looks like a old homeless."

There are other mentions. The story takes place in NYC, so of course there are. Especially for a young boy without family, considering his options; teenage run-aways doing tricks in the parks and such as that; homeless asleep on benches; panhandlers, Vietnam veterans.

Not finished reading The Kid. Story got boring.

80 degrees outside

2012-01-25T13:42:00.000-08:00

Have library books in bag ready to take a walk to return them. Did a search of library catalog to see if some books I want to read are available at the Brewitt branch. It is 1:36PM; temp below says it is 80 degrees in Long Beach right now. I checked about an hour ago, it said 76 degrees. Why then am I sitting here?

One of the good things about being homeless; I was an outdoor person, thus being outdoors 24/7 was less of a problem for me than it would be to indoor people. I did not need to be cooped up indoors with air conditioning running on hot days, nor be sitting in front of a television set or computer screen. When not at work, I was outside; at a park, the beach, anywhere, but inside. So why am I sitting here on such a beautiful sunny So Cal day?

John.

John

2012-01-25T12:42:00.000-08:00

Some days I hate Blogger. Was on second paragraph, do not know what key I hit, and wham it all disappeared. Hate that.

Maybe John is asleep. Quiet coming from his apartment. He is no longer talking in courtyard. Why should I be afraid to leave my apartment when he is home? No rational reason. Would he actually try to break into my apartment with Chris' help? Doubtful. Yet here I sit, immobile.

I know I shut off radio alarm clock. Yet I woke around 6AM, annoyed. Radio playing in addition to too loud WMP. I was too tired to get up and turn them off. Maybe I did get up to turn off radio, use bathroom; do not recall. Take pillow off head, take out earplug, hold in hand, ear lobe hurts from arm over pillow pressing it down to drown out sound of John's television or radio/stereo.

Woke again some time after 8AM, getting my day off to a bad start. Rubbing aching ear lobe, angry that I am still suffering because John continues to violate House Rules & Regulations. I went outside last night, to check, yup he was blaring the whatever. It was early, yet I considered, for the umpteenth time calling the cops.

John (and Chris) does not live in the courtyard. His loud sounds do not need to be heard there. Or out back. Because when he has it that loud, I am hearing it my bedroom. It disturbs my peace.

I had two perfectly quiet nights last week. I am guessing he got read the riot act; Tweety made to leave and ever since he not only does his normal aggravating too loud, but pumps up the volume, louder and louder the later it gets. I believe he is doing that on purpose to annoy me. He is well aware he is violating House Rules and Regulations.

I have not gone out to check the mail yet this week. I doubt he will be gone at the end of the month ~ both of them. I dread calling manager again. At this moment, someone just upped the volume of something. May be John; will not know until I stop typing, get up and go in kitchen. Hungry. Always tomorrow. I can always go to library tomorrow, even though I had planned to go to downtown branch yesterday...

Homeless Rate by State

2012-01-24T14:01:00.001-08:00

http://www.statehealthfacts.org/comparemapreport.jsp?rep=81&cat=1&sortc=5&o=a

Murder Charges Filed

2012-01-18T23:16:00.000-08:00

Headline says "4" first sentence says "5 transients".

"Long Beach police said the 2008 shooting deaths of five transients at a homeless encampment was sparked by one victim's unpaid drug debt. Two gunmen allegedly killed the man, then fatally shot the others in the encampment to prevent them from being witnesses against them, police said "

The short article is not very informative. Were the alleged gunmen arrested and are now in jail? Who is the woman in photo accompanying article? What lead police to them? I would also say "what took them so long to find out who the killers were?" except, I guess it takes that long to follow up on leads, and gather enough evidence to file charges.

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2012/01/4-transients-shot-to-prevent-them-from-being-witnesses-police-say.html

Mailman did not come yet today...

2012-01-18T21:58:00.000-08:00

...Phil called out, rushing up to row of boxes, just as I pulled mail out of my box.

I explained as I do every time one of my neighbors is nice enough to inform that the mail carrier ~ who is a man ~ did not come "yet today", that "I do not get much mail, forget to check it, do not know if I checked it yesterday, or Monday, or was Monday a holiday, or even Saturday or Friday." Well, maybe I did not say all of that.

Explanation is a true lie. I truly do not remember when I last checked my box and I do not get a lot of mail. It is a lie because I do not go out to check my mail when Chris is outside and John is at home. I could tell John went to sleep after arriving home from work and after doing his noisy kitchen stuff; heard Chris a bit earlier, but his door was closed, so went out to check the mail ~ clear out circulars.

Used to be every time I went out to check my mail or leave by front gate, Chris would step outside his apartment staring. I assumed he was expecting his case worker, looking to see if person arrived yet. Then one day, as I was walking back to my apartment looking at the mail in my hands, John said "Hello, friend." I thought he was speaking to Chris, because they were already friends.

After John repeated it a few times, I was at my door, looked at Chris standing there, then turned to look back at John who had come outside, and said "Are you talking to me?".

I was already feeling uncomfortable with Chris. Most neighbors meeting in courtyard say "Hi, good morning, how ya doing today", but he never did and did not acknowledge my greeting. I was already feeling uncomfortable with John because he skewered his blinds. Since John thought it okay to stand at my kitchen window peering inside, yelling for me, in addition to opening his back door every time I opened mine, I became self-conscious walking past his apartment, either front or back.

That little light bulb went off in my head soon after the "hi friend" incident. Oh, my, no wonder why I was uncomfortable when Chris stepped outside as I was leaving my apartment ~ even if just to check the mail. I took to going outside at midnight when I had not checked it in a few days ~ but never on weekends, due to John.

I would lecture myself about how silly my behavior was, for a few days, stick to my regular routine of going out to check mail as soon as I heard mail carrier filling the boxes. Or after arriving home from library, because he is generally here between 12am ~ 1 pm when I would not be at home to hear him. A few days, usually end of week, he does not get here until 4pm.

Before going outside...

2012-01-18T17:58:00.000-08:00

...to check my mail, I told myself, not to get in a conversation with anyone. So that I should have said to Phil, "I know", ditched circulars in bin left there for that purpose, walked right on back inside. But when do I ever listen to my own advice.

Not sure how the conversation went, just that he followed me right to my door, I stepped inside, but did not pull screen door shut, that would be rude. "Do you have a calendar?" Phil asks. Oh, yes, now he is going to explain to me how I can mark my calendar to reflect what days the circulars arrive. I chuckled, not letting him begin, saying, "Yeah, I know, I can mark calendar, but then I forget to look at it, like when Mike first told me about his church's food bank..." blah, blah, blah.

"He's moving," Phil says pointing towards Chris' door. Oh?

"Can't say I am sorry to see him go. When is he moving?", I ask.

The conversation went on for a while, then Doug, came over to talk to us. After a while Doug, said, "Sorry I butted in on your conversation. I will leave so you and Phil can continue talking."

I told another lie, about needing to use bathroom and being on my way out. That is okay, Phil told a lie too. "Mary just told me," he said to Doug, "that she loves having you for a neighbor, friend." Not the first time Phil put words in my mouth.

Bottom line: Chris is probably moving out at end of month; John is moving out also; John has been warned; I should call David; if John is still there, he will be evicted; Phil asked Chris to lower his music, hearing it inside his apartment; Chris left the volume loud.

Doug and Chris are friends or were friends, so too late I realized my gaffe, getting involved in a conversation about Chris (and John) with Phil.

I hate to jinx it by saying: it is quiet tonight. do not hear John's radio/television. Just heard it a little bit when I was in kitchen earlier in the day. Did not get enough detailed info from Phil, but I am quite sure John has been doing it on purpose. If being warned means he was told the month-to-month lease was terminated, and he had to move, then he would figure, it is okay to violate the house rules and regulations. Rather like saying F-you to both Mr. Manager, and to me for complaining about it.

I did tell Phil and Doug that I was going to give David my notice and go back to living on the streets being unable to tolerate being kept up by John and Chris noise after 10PM any longer.

Thankful for small miracles.

2012-01-17T23:54:00.000-08:00

John not only lowered that awful sound, he seems to have turned off his television as well. Sleeping maybe? A little nap before he heads out to work at 2:30AM? There is still some noise; in his kitchen again; Chris in courtyard, maybe he was arriving home after visiting John? Thankful he was not outside very long, was not too loud, was not coughing.

Of course, because I decide I am going to bed while it is quiet, noise starts up again, in John's kitchen. Hot water faucet makes a horrid high-pitched squealing sound. I turn the knob a bit and sound goes away, turn it off, use cold water, turn hot back on for final dish rinse. I do not know why. Is it because that is how I learned to do dishes? With hot water? To kill germs? Anyway, John never turns the knob to stop the squealing, nor does Chris when Chris is in John's apartment doing the dishes.

The water does get very hot here, hence my turning it off a bit, rather than having trying to rinse with low pressure stream; full blast like that, water gets too hot faster.

So wonder, almost midnight, is it safe now, to turn off the computer and go to sleep? Is he done in the kitchen? Or is he going to start washing something again? Or opening/closing drawers/cabinets with lots of noise? Sigh, sigh, sigh.

But I am thankful for small miracles ~ knock wood, no TV, radio, stereo, spooky music...

Out of Control

2012-01-17T21:31:00.000-08:00

Do not who said "Out of control by you, means in control by them", but I am determined not to react tonight.

Spook house music is what it sounds like as loud as if I am entering a house of horror. I opened back door, could clearly hear it outside, but noticing John's kitchen lights on, did not venture past my door. Then I went out front, walked as far as his bathroom window, club level volume, plus several people talking.

Going back a few months ~ prior to John's birthday, Tweety arriving, and his pumping up his volume, I spoke to him outside my back door. I had my kitchen window open and he spotted me before I could close it. I asked him if he liked oatmeal because the huge box of oatmeal I got from food bank had a funny taste to it ~ knew I would not eat it. I did not tell him why I wanted to give it away. I also gave him some bags of beans ~ had way too many to use ~ that was prior to my burner breaking.

He told me he keeps his music nice and low because David has told him about it enough times. At that moment in time, it was basically true, and was pleasant from his direction. He also told me when he introduced me to Tweety that she is nice and quiet. Ha, ha, on that one.

So he knows perfectly well that he is playing the TV/radio/stereo too loud. So I think he is doing it on purpose to annoy me. David said he works nights now, so that John would also know I can not call to complain, have David come downstairs to tell him to lower it.

I am distraught. I want to call the police, but will have to go outside to open gate. Since John skewered his blinds, both back and front, the week he moved into the building, he will see me letting officer inside. Since I assume he is purposely keeping the volume up, hearing his yelling several times in past few weeks, I am afraid to do this. I consider just knocking on his door, but see what I just said.

I do not want to get into an argument with him. I also do not know what I can do about the awful sound that is likely to continue way past midnight again. Earplugs are not going to block it out. Wish I had whiskey. This is insane. I listened to his kitchen radio for 3 weeks solid ~ 24/7 prior to complaining to David when I paid rent.

I had exactly two nights when I did not have to use earplugs this year. Two days of quiet from John's apartment, regarding volume. The slamming, pounding, thumping never stops. Maybe I can try sleeping on floor with headphones and WMP Sleep playlist to go to sleep tonight.

Headache

2012-01-17T17:37:00.000-08:00

Kitchens in these apartments are very small. I can not imagine what John can be doing in his. The noise has been going on for an hour; some sounding like hammering. Maybe he has a sideline building business. I was just getting ready for a nap when he started up. Does he ever sleep? How much furniture could he possibly have to be moving around in there ~ noisily moving around.

There goes the bar bell dropped on the floor extremely loud sound that usually startles me, makes me "jump out of my seat, heart stops" recurring noise. Maybe he is taking everything out of drawers, cabinets, then taking out the drawers, to clean them. Worse, is mouth Chris is out behind my apartment; perhaps taking John's trash to dumpster.

Some time after he started all the noise, he began yelling. Not sure who he was yelling at. Maybe Tweety is visiting again. Should pick on someone his own size. Tired of his fat ass. He needs to wash his ass. I'm not afraid of him, gonna bust him up (or something like that). Your pussy stinks. You need to go wash your pussy. Other man's (inaudible). Don't play with me. I'm not a toy.

On and on he went. A lot about washing asses.

Bad Mood

2012-01-17T16:37:00.000-08:00

I'm in a bad mood today...

...sung to Sam Cooke's Sad Mood. Maybe I woke when radio turned on. Someday I will figure out how to turn off the alarm. Radio was in kitchen, a little too loud.

John's noise started around 8:30PM last night. I am not sure if he was having conversation with Chris or if it was his TV or a combination of both. All I know was it did not take long for it get on my nerves. Got up, moved radio to kitchen, turned it up loud, put it in cabinet next to our adjoining wall, so I could drown out his noise in my Great Room. Had to get up several times to adjust the volume, so it was loud enough that I could no longer hear it. Then I was irritated because my music was too loud.

John's conversation with Chris stopped, but the TV or stereo got louder. At one point I had my radio turned up to 100% volume and could still hear it. By 10PM I was dropping the heavy chair on kitchen floor, stomping around my apartment ~ his kitchen noises, including the bar bell dropping on floor sound, were mixed in with the other annoying sound.

At midnight I gave up, lowered kitchen radio, turned on WMP Sleep Playlist, adjusted volume to cover up my radio and John's noise, earplugs, pillow over head, some deep breathing to relax myself to sleep. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP...THUMP THUMP. WTF! Not a thing I could do to shut out that stereo/radio sound.

Out come earplugs, make coffee with hot cocoa mix ~ hoping it would induce sleep ~ opened back door, stepped out, walked along wall to stand next to John's kitchen window ~ hear his stereo there, coming from his Great Room. Hopping mad. Stark raving mad. I then went out front, to see how far away from his windows I could hear it.

Then suddenly silence. I stayed up for a while, not trusting it. Plus too agitated to even attempt to fall to sleep.

Groggy

2012-01-17T15:49:00.000-08:00

Woke at least once in the night to empty my bladder. Woke too groggy to stay up. Bad mood due to night prior.

Could not fall back to sleep, despite being groggy. Planned to go downtown today. Main branch of library has a couple of books checked in that I want to read. At least John is at work, so blessed silence. For a little bit. Then his TV starts playing. Not loud, just loud enough for me to hear it. Then some kitchen noises. Then the volume is turned up. I am ready to go knock on his door and hand him a copy of House Rules and Regulations and City of Long Beach Community Noise Ordinance ~ tell him to lower it or I call cops.

Or to call cops. Quite positive it is not John, but Chris. I would enjoy that, cops knocking on John's door for Chris to deal with. Noise abated. I turn on WMP Sleep Playlist, don earplugs, pillow over head ~ WTF ~ THUMP, THUMP....

Now I am spitting mad.

John home from work ~ or did he not go to work ~ 11PM, yak, yak, yak in kitchen. Other assorted noises. Did get a short, very short nap somewhere during the day. Was ready for a second nap when John started the non-stop kitchen noises. Now 5:56PM and hello radio or TV ~ even though my radio is playing. Time to call police? Manager is useless.

Oh and thank you, Chris back at home COUGH. Another of yesterday's irritations ~ all day long.

If they are indeed moving, it could not come soon enough for me.

An end in sight?

2012-01-11T16:00:00.000-08:00

When I talked to Mike at laundromat the other day, he told me that both John and Chris are moving out. I am not doing a happy dance yet. I pretty much surmised that they were leaving due to conversations ~ or should say John talking in courtyard. I am also guessing that they both got told by Mr. Manager they had to go after my rambling note included with rent payment.

Mike said Chris is going to live with his guy in Orange county; already moved some clothes out; "That fat guy Chris has stay over." Not sure if I recorded it here ~ the week of John's birthday, the man's voice, loud, early am ~ I open my door to ask them to quiet down ~ just in time to see shirtless man in short spandex entering Chris' apartment. Chris hung a short tapestry over his door frame, so it has to be moved when entering or leaving.

Since that time, I learned, via John, the stranger is Tweety's brother, who was staying with Chris. Speaking of Tony, I think his name may be Tony; have been hearing people outside saying "hello Tony". Likely the same guy, yelling for Chris at gate, and general yelling or over loud talking in courtyard.

Mike said "..and John is going to live with that lady."

Saw Tony

2012-01-10T15:12:00.000-08:00

John's noise and lack of night time sleep, had me procrastinating which is how I ended up going to laundromat on Saturday. Weekend mornings are usually busy and as I feared, there were no available washing machines. Unless I wanted to use one of the over sized machines; cost $2.25 versus $1.25 for standard size which is all I needed. I opted to wait.

A man was sitting on the folding shelves listening to his (what are they called?) Ipod. He had a couple of small bags; the square kind one uses for gift giving. Someone had a large net bag hanging over a dryer door. Maybe it is his, I think, and the whole row of washers are his clothes. I have never seen anyone "reserve" a dryer by hanging a laundry bag over the door and closing it.

Nope. As washers stopped, a lady and her daughter started emptying them. Man started filling all three compartments with soap (or bleach). Impatient, after the slow moving daughter, carried hand fulls of clothes to dryer with bag hanging over it, finally finished emptying second washer, I said: "Sir, are you going to be using this one too?" Yup.

Girl could not get third washer door open. Mother came over to start emptying washer four. Man helped girl get the stuck door open. I was so tempted to start grabbing their wet laundry out of one of their washers, helping transfer the clothes to a dryer. Instead, I waited, finally asking Man if he was going to be using "this one too?". Nope. Hooray!

Neighbor Mike arrived to do some sweeping ~ he gets paid a little bit to help out. He explained, with actions, to push washer door in with a hard shove, if it is stuck which will un-stick it. I was outside talking to Mike for a while. When I came inside, Man asked: "Didn't you used to be on the streets?"

Usta be on the streets

2012-01-10T14:12:00.000-08:00

"Yes," I replied to man at laundromat, "you remember seeing me?"

"Yes," he replied.

Strange; must have been that huge red backpack; I was hard to miss; still, odd anyone would remember seeing me. Okay: "Oh, were you homeless too?" I ask.

"Yup." This is like pulling teeth from chickens.

"Did we know each other?" I ask, "I do not remember you."

"Yeah, we talked all the time."

I stood back, peered at his face then said: "Oh Tony! You look different, I did not recognize you." He took off his cap to show me that he cut his hair. I have zero recollection of his hair style, he still looked different. Can not say he aged, if anything, he might look younger. As we chatted, he would smile and I would get a glimpse of how I remember him looking.

I apologized for not recognizing him: "If I had I would not have been saying, 'Sir' this and 'Sir' that." Even though he recognized me, I am willing to bet he forgot my name.

Tony,Tony, Tony

2012-01-10T13:21:00.000-08:00

I knew a lot of men named Tony while I lived on the streets. Tony that I saw at laundromat I knew since the day I moved into my apartment on Elm Avenue in 2001.

I may have gotten out of a taxi or off a bus dragging backpack or suitcase with me. He may have offered his assistance. I would likely say "No, thank you," and keep on walking. What I distinctly remember was sitting outside door of complex; man from rental agency was late arriving. I was sitting on my backpack or suitcase talking to Tony. He asked questions about the apartment. He was looking for one; he would wait and ask the rental guy to show him one. I am sure Tony left before the late arriving, very late arriving.

Conversation with Tony went something like this:

"Do you have a man?" him.

"Yes," me.

"Where is he?" him.

"Alabama" me. I started using that line while I was staying at the Monterey Motel. If a woman has a man why would he be letting her stay at that dive motel. And why was I alone dragging those bags. If I was your man...

Tony was staying at a SRO downtown, so I would see him now and then. We had an ice tea at an outdoor table at a place that probably no longer exists. Only vague recollections of that evening and conversation, other than thinking he was intelligent and interested in me. I'm here, he's there....
Soon Tony told me he was going to give the streets a try. Do not know if that was before or after my birthday that year.

Birthday treat

2012-01-10T13:00:00.000-08:00

Brother-in-law sent me $20.00 for my birthday. I did not need the gift. First time in my life that I had enough money for myself with some left over to share with those less fortunate than myself. I kept a thousand dollars in checking account ~ above the amount I needed to pay rent and bills ~ by living as frugally as I always had. Opting not to own a car helped. I was happy to have a job in Long Beach ~ a long time desire ~ to live and work in the same town. Okay, it was Signal Hill, but Signal Hill is surrounded on all sides by Long Beach, so...

I was in a good mood. Was that before or after I treated myself to a concert? As I recall, same weekend. Told self as I left my apartment en-route to Two Umbrellas: I am treating the first homeless person I see to breakfast. I saw Tony, and invited him to join me. We walked there, sat at an outside table.

I was annoyed. Tony sat reading a newspaper through out the meal. That was okay, I stuck myself into a conversation at another table. I forget the guy's name, used to see him a lot around town. He was telling his friends what he was going to wear for Halloween, about his church and being gay. I said I was going to go as I was, put a pillow under my shirt, push down the knee high stockings, got up and illustrated, walking, stooped over, hand on aching back.

It was a fun morning, even though the man whose breakfast I was paying for ignored me.

A few days later, September 11, 2001...

WTC

2012-01-10T12:47:00.000-08:00

At the laundromat, I told Tony, I still think about him now and then, wonder how he is doing. Little would I know that morning I was moving into my apartment on Elm Avenue that both Tony and I would someday be calling the streets our home.

I had recently been thinking about Tony.

I was on my way to or from downtown library when I saw Tony at Lincoln Park. He was waiting with other homeless people for the sermon to be over to get breakfast. Since that time, Long Beach has outlawed feeding people at parks, but back then it was a common sight. There was a musician, perhaps guitar player. The people were glum.

I told Tony something like "That's not how you do it." I put down my bag, raised my arms to the sky, facing Long Beach's WTC saying, "Thank you Lord, thank you Jesus, hallelujah, praise be to God." Or whatever I said ~ along with mention of no one flying a plane into to World Trade Center building. I was quite animated.

Maybe at the time, still fresh in my mind, attending services at gospel type churches ~ places where worshipers are not quiet when praising and thanking their god.

I have other memories of Tony, but that one will likely never vanish from my mind. Hope I recognize him, next time I see him.

Continuing story...

2012-01-05T23:32:00.000-08:00

...Omigod, John shut off his radio, evening of January 3rd. What a relief! Of course, the pleasant silence coming from John and company, was marred by his loud talking in courtyard at 10:45pm, some slamming; sounded awful close to my door; guessing he was visiting Chris and saying his goodbye. 11pm, the kitchen noise starts; jump at the first loud bang; the rest sounded like wood, perhaps dragging chairs across the floor to move them; opening/closing cabinets/drawers, too?

11:30pm, John is yelling. No idea who he was arguing with, only hear his voice; telephone argument maybe. Nope. Midnight, Tweety is yelling; maybe they took turns, do not hear John fighting back. All quiet by 12:30am. Dare I try to go to sleep? Eyes so heavy with sleep, but I wait, and by 1am, more kitchen noises, then some sound deeper in his apartment, thumps ~ I am only guessing where the various noises are generated ~ easy to tell the loud kitchen ones, the softer stop, could be from anywhere. It was still going on at 1:22am when I could not keep eyes open another minute.

Earplugs: check. Pillow over head; check. WMP Sleep playlist running; nada.

It was such a treat to wake up and not hear John's radio. All day long. And all the next day. Maybe Tweety went back to where ever she lives. Of course it would not last. The good news is John's volume is not loud, just that low thumping, loud enough for me to hear it in my bedroom. Last night first night in I do not know how long I went to sleep with no earplugs. Back in again tonight.

Made worse, by naps, despite waking too late in the morning, needing to use them and pillow and music to block out sounds from courtyard ~ but today's nap, slightly past noon, did not shut out John's talking in his kitchen. Sounded like two people, argument going on ~ a second male person.

I dare not complain to Mr. Manager again ~ because at least the 24/7 loud radio noise has ceased; will just have to put up with that lower sound that I should not be hearing at all. Truly do not know how his music/television sound penetrates through space of his apartment, through his hallway, through his bathroom, through separation wall, through my bathroom, wall and closed door, through my hallway, across my Great Room, hearing it over the sound of electric space heater fan.

Sigh, sigh, sigh.

Insanity

2012-01-03T22:08:00.000-08:00

Break from neighbor Chris' coughing that began last January seems to be over. 9:45PM, guess he is too hot to close his door, cough, cough, cough. Bad enough listening to it earlier today, yesterday and the day before which was the worst of it. If I remember correctly.

Wrote manager a letter to enclose with rent check. About John and Tweety. Seems she is living with John full time now. She was here this past weekend; weekend before that and weekend prior ~ and every day in between ~ adding up to over 14 days. Do not know Beasley's restrictions on how long guests can stay ~ usual number of days is 14 at which time guest becomes tenant, added to lease, rent increase.

John ups the volume of his radio at night, which is next to kitchen wall. I am guessing he needs it loud enough so that he can hear it in his living room. Which means it is also loud enough for me to hear it in my bedroom. Makes more sense for him to put the radio in his living room where he wants to hear it, then he can lower the volume ~ I would likely still hear it ~ some nights I have been listening to both his TV and radio at the same time.

New Years Eve, I kept getting up and lowering my radio ~ too loud, annoying me. Then I went in my kitchen and it was really loud. Dang, I just lowered it! Oh, I see, John was listening to same radio station I was. Knew trying to go to sleep early would be futile ~ fireworks and alla dat at midnight, yet I was still getting annoyed ~ because, yes, John and Tweety were watching TV even as they were blaring kitchen radio.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, unrelenting violations of complex House Rules & Regulations, sleep deprivation, constant stress & agitation ~ can cause temporary insanity. Had one of my fits some time after 11PM last night. The kind where I not only stomp around the apartment, but start ranting ~ out loud.

Why oh why could John not go stay with Tweety where ever she lives in Orange county? He was off from work for 4 days I heard him say, so no need to be in Long Beach. Do not know how he gets to work at 2:30AM, maybe his sister comes to pick him up, driving him to his job.

Sigh. One night, 11:30PM John is outside his back door doing whatever ~ sounded like emptying bottles in a trash bin. A lot of bottles. I know Tweety drinks; she was holding a beer bottle the day John introduced us. Maybe she is a lush, or the two of them are. Truly rude, however, to be dumping glass at that hour....

2012

2011-12-31T23:14:00.000-08:00

Well, almost 2012 here on the Pacific Coast. I thought my radio was too loud, so lowered it. Hungry, went in kitchen to find something to munch on. Stereo radio. Oh, I see, neighbor John has his radio on listening to same station as I am. Wish he would move the radio out of his kitchen ~ likely has his television on in the other room.

A co-worker at Tinker Hollow Ale House & Restaurant told me that what we do on New Years Eve we will do all year. Paradigm is borne. True or not, I was determined to go to the beach, watch fireworks over the Queen Mary as I did for many years. Of course, it was easy to walk a block or two to the beach to that back then.

Checked bus schedule. Oh, no Redondo Ave bus after 6:30pm, bummer. Long Beach Transit had a survey once when changing routes. I added my suggestion to have a Redondo bus that went west on Ocean Blvd to Transit Mall, north on Pacific Ave, returning on either Anaheim or Pacific Coast Highway, south on Redondo again.

Then have a different bus to Seal Beach, preferably one that runs along PCH ~ routing the bus through crowded Belmont Shore makes little sense. They already have little red buses going through Belmont Shore.

Okay, I will walk, I told self. I did live on the streets, so no big deal walking there and back after midnight. Got 1/2 dressed for my planned night out. Stepped out back to check the weather. A drizzly fog. Eerie ~ perfect night to be outdoors. So why am I sitting here?

Called my two daughters when ball dropped at Times Square. Got answering machine at one; the other had cell phone turned off which is very unusual. Thought to call my son ~ likley sleeping, wife might be up. What to do for 3 hours ~ would take about a 1/2 hour to walk to beach. Then do what? Okay, will take Anaheim Street bus downtown, walk around downtown area ~ hang out with Occupy Long Beach cats for a while. Take Anaheim bus home.

Any way I try to leave apartment, John will see me going. Do not want him to know I am not at home. Sigh.

So I gave up. Do hope that will not be how the story of 2012 plays out.

A last good deed?

2011-12-28T14:46:00.000-08:00

On December 22, 2011, former Saturday Night Live writer, Joe Bodolai wrote on his Facebook Status Update:

I'm alone this year and am volunteering serving Christmas dinner to the homeless. Perhaps I will be one, but I love all of you and if I make it to next year let's make it a morally, spiritually, better and funnier year.

He was found dead on Monday, December 26, 2011 in Hollywood hotel room he rented on the 19th, an apparent self-induced death. "Perhaps I will be one" sounds as if he expected to be soon homeless.

I may be violating something by pasting his status update here. But it must be public, because I found the link published elsewhere. Facebook will likely close the account, thus just adding URL here rather than link it.http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002163774909&sk=wall

California Homeless Resources

2011-12-24T11:58:00.000-08:00

Have not explored new blog California Homeless Resources, will be linking on side bar, in addition to companion website.

http://homelessresourcesca.blogspot.com/
http://www.homelessresourcesca.org/index.html

Gotta Move Out

2011-12-16T18:55:00.000-08:00

I guess the lyric is I gotta move on, not out. In the right town, but I talk about it, talk about it, I gotta move, I gotta move, I have got to get out of this apartment complex.

John knocks on my door one afternoon, thank goodness it was the front door. He wanted to know if I saw David, the manager. His sister was at her father's funeral in Florida; she just got back and paid his rent. He wanted to know if he was going to get a late charge; wanted to explain it to David. Um, why not call the man, or leave a note on his door.

Tweety rattles my screen door. If I had known it was her, I would not have gotten up to open the door. Informative chat.

Heavy rattling of screen door, and voices, hear my name. I open door, Phil is standing in front of mail carrier who has a package for me. How rude, I can not even open my screen door wide enough for the guy to hand me my box. Phil than reminds me that Saturday is Food Bank. I doubt he heard me tell him, I did not forget, the 17th is my mother's birthday, so the date stuck in my mind. Then he informs me that Darryl will be escorting me there. WTF!

I am positive that Phil did not tell David the truth about Chris' assault. If he did, I am irritated that Chris is still here, disturbing my peace daily, preventing me from going to sleep when I am tired. Phil is going to be seeing the temper side of me real soon. Did I say I needed or wanted an escort? Darryl is a bossy thing; I yes him to death, because I do not want to set off one of his fits. I have zero interest of walking to the Food Bank with him.

Of course, after putting package inside, I went over to check the mail, and Darryl was standing there with Phil waiting for carrier to finish filling the boxes. Phil tells Darryl to rattle my screen at 7AM. WTF! I told them, do not be rattling my screen at 7AM, I am not going there until 8:30. Then Phil and Darryl decide Darryl will walk me there around 8AM. WTF! Do I even exist. I am a big girl now ~ okay, I am still a tiny person ~ but all grown up. Have been for many years. Do not need these young whippersnappers making plans for me.

I have a good mind to skip the Food Bank on purpose. I will likely leave early, not heading there, just to be out of my apartment and let Darryl shake away on my screen. I am leaving my apartment at 8:15, I do not need, and definitely do not want Darryl to walk with me. I have managed to co-exist with him, without him going off, yelling at me that I am going to hell and all that other garbage he screams when riled. That may end on Saturday. I am not going to be a good, little, obedient girl taking orders from effing men.

Homeless versus Occupy Long Beach

2011-12-14T18:46:00.000-08:00

Looks like Yahoo did not remove my self-published articles when they moved them to the new Yahoo Voices.

It is 6:38PM and I am ready to go to sleep. Too late in day for a nap, way too early for bed. Same thing happened yesterday, only a bit earlier. Forced self to stay awake, rather than succumb to the call of a nap ~ which was likely impossible to do anyway, thank you John, Tweety, Chris and company. Stayed up until past midnight, feeling wide awake, took me a bit to fall to sleep. Woke once in the night for trip to bathroom, woke just about 6AM. No wonder I am sleepy ~ two nights in a row, going to bed too late, waking too early. C'est la vie.

Due to that sleepiness, will just share URLS to Homeless versus Occupy Long Beach and follow up article The Whole World Is Watching. Page views appreciated. Thank you.

Shooting Stars & Cranberries

2011-12-13T20:13:00.000-08:00

"Tis the season for cranberry sauce to accompany Thanksgiving turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing. I imagine turkey was for Christmas day too, although I could be mistaken. Maybe we had ham, but I associate ham with Easter day big meal which we always ate at noon. Thinking back to growing up years, marvel on how our bodies adjusted. Normal weeks, we ate the big meal, supper, at 5pm sharp. Sundays and holy days the main meal was at noon, eating leftovers at will for suppertime meals.

Growing up Catholic, also did not eat breakfast on Sunday mornings. Had to fast after midnight back then, if one was taking Holy Communion at mass the next day. Later it was changed to three hours prior, then less than that. I can not say I woke up hungry in those days, but did prefer to go to the 8AM mass. Dad sometimes picked us up after mass, delicious mouth drooling aroma wafting from bakery crumb cake and butter squares. Home, that was Sunday breakfast, more often than not.

Has nothing at all to do with title of this post, my mind or is it the typing fingers, takes my blog posts in all kinds of directions. I could tie this one in with homelessness and meals, but will not; it is a mental health post. Um, maybe, to keep it short, will do the "continued" method...

Voices in my head

2011-12-12T20:13:00.000-08:00

Can not say I have been hearing voices in my head, more like thoughts that come unbidden to mind. They are not thoughts, like right now, thinking upon what I am doing, nor thoughts like when noticing how beautiful a tree looks, just random, passing words moving through my mind.

Cranberry, cranberry, cranberry. 'Nuff said? As mentioned, it is the season, yet why not, turkey? As I was walking the other day (perhaps the day I am dating this post) and the night before, cranberry was followed by crossroads. Ah, makes sense, Cranberry Crossroads. Without looking it up I will say, in South Brunswick, New Jersey. May be East Brunswick (makes more sense, now I must look it up) or Miltown. Will get back to that thought.

I had a sad longing to be back there driving all those roads I used to know like the back of my hands. I do not miss living in New Jersey, just seeing all those places I was once so familiar with. Of course, those old places have changed so much, that even if I could go back and drive around, I would likely not recognize anything and equally likely to get lost.

"First shooting star" shows up in my mind first thing in morning as I am fixing my instant coffee and I am instantly transported back to 2002, standing in front of laundromat with Jeff who said "my first shooting star". Looking back, I would say: yeah, right. But on that night, I believed he had never seen one in his entire life. Of course, the words brought my mind to a place I did not want it to go. Past is over, buried deep, all yesterday's there, let them sleep. He probably does not even remember saying that or seeing it, which irritates me. How silly.

A nephew posts on his Facebook status update: in God's hands. My first impulse was to ask if his grandparents were okay, or what was wrong. Cranberry Crossroads, South Brunswick, in God's hands, something must be wrong. An hour or so later, I realized, duh, both of his maternal grandparents are gone from this world. How could I forget that fact?

Someone commented on his post: Mr.Tebow. Ah, a clue. Outcome of football game resting in God's hands. I did not know the kid liked football. Yes, his dad is a sporty kind of guy, more the New York Yankees, basketball and beach volley ball, than football fan, or so I thought. Not that kids interests exactly mirror parents.

Cranberry, cranberry, cranberry, many days in a row, at different times of day, ambiguous status update has me assuming the worse.

5 dollar lucky day

2011-12-10T21:51:00.000-08:00

Walking to library to return books, spotted a five dollar bill on the sidewalk. At first it looked to be tattered, but when I stooped to pick it up, it was just folded oddly. I stood up, looked around, who knows what I was looking for, except perhaps a walker who may have dropped it. I then looked up at the Park Hotel windows, perhaps expecting to see an open window, someone standing there, shouting down "Hey, that is mine." or maybe watching to see who found it.

My very first instinct was to take it into the office, turn it in as lost and found. I never have qualms about picking up pennies, nickles, dimes or quarters ~ losers weepers, finders keepers, but a five? I have been inside the Park Hotel, not sure when. Maybe when I was staying at the horrid Monterey back in 2001 while looking for an apartment. Maybe earlier when life knocked me down and I needed a cheap, real cheap, place to live.

The person who took my application told me I would not like it there. Had to share a bathroom at end of hallway ~ with many men. I said I did not care, but pretty much got it ~ they were not going to rent a room to a female. Or at least not this female. I think the guys name is Jack Smith, I met in 2006 who told me of the work he was doing to turn the Park Hotel into a homeless youth shelter.

Since it is en-route to library I have passed it many times, remembering every time, the time I tired to get a room there. I watched as the building was being renovated ~ not like another hotel more eastward on Anaheim Street, but definitely work being done to improve the building. I wondered if Jack had anything to do with that.

I think of the people who stay there now; losing five bucks would hurt. Yet turning it in would not likely return it to its owner. Anyone could claim they lost it. So it is mine now.

I tried to think of any $5.00 worthy good deeds I have done lately ~ a reward from the universe. Nothing came to mind. I do not count volunteer work at Food Bank as a good deed ~ that is my way of paying for the food I get. Not like back in 2001 when I was employed and volunteered because it felt good to do so.

Time Flies and Backwards posting

2011-12-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

As they say, time flies when you are having fun or as I say "or not". I had intended to write more about Tweety, in my backwards posting way, as I am doing now. It is Saturday night, December 10, 2011. Can not believe I have not been here since November 27. Where did the time go?

First thing this morning I went into bathroom, treated to the sound of a woman in throes of passion. Oh great. Bad mood instantly remembering last night's rat-a-tat machine gun sounding noise coming from John's apartment. No it did not literally sound like a machine gun (have I ever heard a machine gun) (well, yeah, must have in a movie at one time or another) ~ perhaps the rhythm of one. Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat tat, rat...

On and on it went, driving me darn near batty. I was trying to read and could not. For several weeks or a month or so, was amazed that I did not hear any music/TV sounds coming from John's apartment. Now suddenly he is back to the LOUD stuff. I turned on my radio 100% volume, put it in cabinet, covered it with my shopping totes and went back to reading ~ and it was so loud I was doubly annoyed ~ because that is how loud I needed it in order to drown out the sound of rapid fire.

Listening to Miss Tweety first thing in the morning was not my cup of tea. Nor my cup of instant coffee that I went in the kitchen to make. The passion noise even louder there than in bathroom. WTF are they doing it in the kitchen? Like that time...

On to Great Room, turn on computer, still hear her ~ how long is this going to go on? Maybe it is a porno movie. I have heard people having sex but nothing like this one. Like a monotone, no variation in the moans as passion accelerates towards orgasm. I had to get up and turn on radio, to drown it out.

By 7AM there was more noise, which I have already forgotten about ~ perhaps Phil's droning voice out front. It was not a good morning. Was the lucky five dollar bill a prize for my suffering? Heh, heh, heh.

Tweety

2011-11-27T16:38:00.000-08:00

A couple of nights of quiet ~ no Chris' coughing ~ hallelujah ~ happy thanks giving! No he was not evicted, just away from the weekend. Too bad Sunday morning started with me listening to his coughing again. Yet I am grateful to have had a few nights respite.

Some men I do not know made up for Chris' loud talking. Not nearly as annoying as Chris, mainly just yelling to each other, like "Open the gate!" or a few sentences. I opened door a crack, just enough to catty-corner the fan between open door and wall, so I could air out my apartment; draw out stale air, draw in some fresh. As fresh as air can be in Long Beach.

My head was down (doing what else, looking at laptop) when someone walked by saying "Hi, Mary." I did not catch the person as I had seeing the other strange men as they walked by. Only a few seconds later, another, "Hi Mary". Without looking up, I said, "Hi John." Recognized his voice. After I finished typing the sentence, I looked up. Yes, John stopped at the door, said he did not get to wish me a happy Thanksgiving. I decided to get up and go to the door, rather than try to talk over the fan noise.

John told me what his lady friend cooked for him. Plus what she gave him ~ Christmas tree and engagement ring. I am a fake and I know it. Inside I am jumping for joy: hope he gets married soon, hope he gets married soon and moves out of this building. Outside I ask, with a smile, "Oh so you are getting married?" and teased him about his cooking versus his lady's . He tells me he has been wanting to bring her over to introduce me.

So I indicate, to go get her and bring her over right now. Would be too easy to tell him I was busy, eh. I have heard the woman so much, I did want to see what she looks like.I step outside when John brings her over ~ do not know if they can see my face through the heavy, dark mesh screen door. I do my typical, hold out my hand to shake hers, saying "I'm Mary and you are?". Either she or John tells me he calls her Tweety. She was wearing a t-shirt with Tweety bird on it.

Okay, whatever.

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T15:53:00.000-08:00

As I stepped out of alley onto 10th Street sidewalk, a woman sort of hesitated, dour expression on her face, mumbled something as she stepped off curb to make her way around car to unlock driver's side door. It took me a few to realize what she had mumbled was "Happy Thanksgiving." I smiled, replied in kind. Do not know if she heard me, as she was already getting into her vehicle.

My first thought had been: she must think I am a homeless mugger. Why homeless? I mean other people do walk out from alleys. I was dressed in a nice beige hooded sweater I probably got from Village clothing room; my one and only skirt ~ a leopard skin just-above-the-knee flare, the only dress-up wardrobe item survived my homeless days ~ did not wrinkle, light-weight ~ wished I had kept my mothers waffle weave midi skirt ~ did not take up much space, rolled up, but a bit too heavy for carrying in backpack.

I had on a long-sleeved gray light-weight sweater, which may have clashed with the outer one, but hardly visible and matched the skirt better than a green heavier sweater. I likewise probably got a pair of thick black stockings or tights from the Village ~new. Well those things are so darn tight, I cut the toes off them, before putting on Thanksgiving morning. My slip-in shoes are so old, I opted for ankle boots. Okay that may have been weird, but with black socks rolled, I think a style some wear and needed something to keep legs warm.

If not for that woman whom I might have startled, it is not likely that I would have said a cheery "Happy Thanksgiving" to the next person I saw. A man, head down, a few feet from the alley entrance. He looked up, returned the greeting than asked if I had a cigarette. Then he asked if I ate dinner yet (at noon!) (maybe he said "Thanksgiving meal"). He said he was on his way to church to get one. He showed me the invitation.

D.C. friend from homeless days had told me about that church a couple of years ago. I got the bright idea to go to both churches. I was curious, D.C. had sung the praises of whatever holiday meal he ate there. Truly regretted my choice. I was stuffed. I did bring a container to fill with stuff I could not comfortably finish eating, had a small piece of pie, then left for the walk to 2nd church.

Um, I tried to memorize name of this church, slips my mind. Again. Well, this church a woman greets me, asking where I want to sit. Well, I dunno, so I say "with sociable people". She seated me at a small round table with a few people telling them I wanted to sit with "talk-able" people (and that would be them.) Then the woman asked what I wanted to drink (I opted for green tea, do not recall other choice). When she brought the drink she asked what I wanted to eat, naming items (Turkey? Stuffing? Corn?).

Well, I was embarrassed to say "Just turkey." I was expecting the typical buffet type line where I could see offerings, possibly add something other than turkey, but all I wanted was turkey. The turkey at 1st church was shaved, and yummy. If I had stayed, I would have gone up for seconds after a while, as I have done in previous years. And I would have stuck around offering to help clean up, because I did not show up to help prepare, serve.

Turkey at the 2nd church was sliced ~ big slices of white meat. I am partial to dark meat. Plus generous slice of ham. Very salty ham. I happened to be sitting next to the chef or cook. Very nice man. Topic of stuffing, he said something about too much sage. Again I was embarrassed to say anything other than "Thank you, God Bless, very good, delicious" when I was leaving. The turkey had too much sage ~ did not taste like turkey at all.

Yet still appreciated. I asked for a 2nd plate to cover my unfinished food. A lady brought me foil instead. I got to eat more turkey later (and sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, corn, mashed potatoes, white sweet potato wedges, yummy). Next day heated ham, covered with applesauce as I did as a child. Heating the ham seemed to reduce the salty taste; applesauce covered, not salty at all.

After seeing that first guy I did remember to say Happy Thanksgiving to the few passerby's I saw. Two men that I recognize (maybe from picking up food at Food Bank, maybe former homeless cats I once knew by sight) told me about the church I was on my way to. It was a very nice day, despite stomach aching as I walked home.

Yahoo Contributer

2011-11-22T18:57:00.000-08:00

December 1, 2011 will be the end of my publishing days with Yahoo Contributor.

A few days ago, when I logged in to the account, there was a message that I had to accept the new Terms of Service. Hate reading those things, too much technical stuff and way too long. Almost need to be an attorney to understand them (and Privacy Policies). I skim-read it. I did not like the part that YC does not guarantee payment even for assignment articles. One of my assignment articles is video tapping Occupy demonstrations, payment: $15.00.

With no video camera not something I could do. Most often they offer no pay, only page view bonuses. Other times the pay offered is so low, it is not worth the amount of effort that will go into researching the article. I noticed that YC pays less than Associated Content used to pay out for page views. Neither publisher has been all that helpful in getting their writers page views. Basically we have to bring readers to our articles. More readers equal more advertising dollars they can earn.

But that is not why I will no longer be associated with YC. Today's announcement is that YC is moving all our AC articles to a new Yahoo URL. The good news about that is the articles will become single page articles, rather than broken up into cumbersome two or more of them. The bad news is an article that used to get 3 page views will now get one. No biggie. The biggie is they are removing all articles that were self-submitted.

ROFL I stopped asking Associated Content to offer to pay me for what I wrote a couple of years ago. At that time I started publishing my book reviews on my website ~ which I have not updated in a long, long time. Once I figured out how to self publish at Yahoo Contributor I stopped submitting for pay. They rejected my stuff anyway, so pointless to try. Or their goes almost my entire catalogue of articles.

Oh well, it was great while it lasted.

Massage and pedicure would be heavenly!

2011-11-20T20:56:00.000-08:00

"The Greater Open Door Church will host its seventh annual Beauty Day prior to serving a meal.

Hair stylists, barbers, makeup artists, massage therapists and manicurists will pamper the homeless, and there will be live entertainment."

I am green! Why did they not do this when I lived on the streets! I wonder if I show up with backpack, ragged clothes I can get some of that pampering. I have not had a professional haircut since, um, I dunno, 2005? I have a horrible time cutting toenails, procrastinate rather than do them. Nail clippers and other nail care tools are long gone. The cheap pair of clippers is part of the problem. I have had two pedicures, long ago. Heavenly to have feet and calves massaged.

Nah, I am glad people are volunteering to provide these services for currently homeless population. It takes a very special person to volunteer to do this; for some homeless hygiene is non-existent. Others do the best they can to stay clean, nails and hair trimmed, but it is not easy. The massage is also a great idea; all kinds of kinks, sore muscles, cricks in neck; a bit of relief, heavenly.

I found another very short list for Thanksgiving meals. Did not copy link. The P-T list shared verbatim what Everything Long Beach posted regarding the "Drive-Thru" meal. If it was today, rather than Sunday the 27th they may have gotten rained out. Said "served in market parking lot". Unable to find any information about that event, I searched the address. Located a few blocks north/west of Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue, the Google map street view showed a building with sign: Food Market, small parking lot it seems.

Evidently Ramon and Martha Serrano own the market and have been doing this for seven years. Other places are the usual: Mission, COA, Samoan church which appears to have a name change or else I never knew that church's actual name. Councilman Dee Andrew's meal at MLK park is tomorrow, I believe.

No more begging in Long Beach

2011-11-19T20:56:00.000-08:00

I bought the Press-Telegram on Tuesday, November 8th because I wanted to read headline story: LB to weigh beggary law. I believe Nov. 8th was neighbor John's birthday; the day his lady friend came for a visit. The morning was so noisy, I thought it was the handymen fixing something, except for the lady's voice. Maybe it is John's sister, I thought, come to help him pack up and move. Door opening, slamming, stuff being dragged outside my window, plus all the kitchen noise inside, yelling between people. Went on for a couple of hours.

Saturday night I finally called the police; Sunday afternoon John spoke to me ~ telling me about his lady, birthday and her brother staying with Chris. Ah, I see. Anyway the newspaper never got read. Nor did a book I was trying to finish; nor an article I was trying to edit. So, finally reading it. Do not know if City Council passed the law.

I was under impression Long Beach already had an aggressive panhandler law. Councilwoman Suja Lowenthal proposed the measure. Every new regulation in Long Beach that I totally disagree with was started by her. An Occupy Long Beach event was dubbed SujaPalooza. I read comments about the event at Facebook's OLB page. Seems there were suddenly signs closing the park before the usual 10PM where event was being held. Seems Ms. Lowenthal lives a few blocks from the park. I guess she felt threatened.

Do not know if City Council passed her law. I see no reason to prohibit people from asking other people for money. My old joke: what is the difference between a panhandler and a telemarketer? I have been subjected so some very aggressive telemarketers. I only remember one aggressive, nasty panhandler ~ 1990s, San Diego. I am sure I meet some of the offensive panhandlers here in Long Beach; Tom A. comes to mind. Basically, though, just say no; most homeless do not panhandle and those that do consider it a number's job, ask enough people ~ sort of like the real estate sales rule of thumb ~ sell one in sixty.

Oy, I am babbling here. Be back in a minute.

Enabling

2011-11-18T21:17:00.000-08:00

CEO of the Long Beach Rescue Mission, Jim Lewis supports the new beggary law. Press-Telegram article says he said that giving money to homeless persons can enable them to continue a street life rather than work to get out of it.

Huh? I tried for a year to get off the streets via the Mission's Lydia House, which is across the street from the Mission which houses men. Panhandling was not for me, but at times people handed me money. That was a very welcome treat. That little bit of cash would hardly "enable" me to continue a street life. I had read so often that "they do not avail themselves of services", so that when I returned to Long Beach, my intention was to avail myself ~ get help needed to get me off the streets and gainfully employed. A year. That did not happen.

I wrote all about it. A shame it is now all on a disc the F-drive refuses to acknowledge, despite that same F-drive moving all my documents onto said discs. An alcoholic Vietnam veteran living on the streets is not going to be changed by not being allowed to ask for spare change to get a beer. An alcoholic is going to get a drink by any means they can. I have known them.

Maybe Mr. Lewis is enabling homeless people to continue a street life by feeding them Thanksgiving meals. Or providing shelter for people like Walkabout Michael. Michael had his own agenda for his own reasons. The Mission in Long Beach was but a temporary place for him to sleep indoors. Then there were the other long time Long Beach homeless I met while on the streets. They had a system of using shelters such as the Mission that worked for them and continued the homeless life. Most of those were not like Michael in that he volunteered at churches; he also panhandled as he walked around the country. Enabled? Whatever.

Thanksgiving Meals

2011-11-17T09:15:00.000-08:00

Found one listing for Thanksgiving meals being served in Long Beach.

The first free dinner, “Drive-Thru” Thanksgiving meal on Sunday, does not specify what Sunday the meal is being served.

7th Street Parkcrest church is serving their annual meal on Thanksgiving. Their website does not give information about it. Perhaps readers need to join the website to have access to Calendar information. My neighbor, Phil, is the guy in photo on right at Food Bank page. I think Phil told me they will be serving until 3PM, but not sure what time it begins.

I have not heard back from Mr. Manager as to his speaking to the men about the incident when Chris put Phil in a choke hold causing him to pass out. It bothers me that Phil did not have Chris arrested the day it happened; nor report it to manager. I would rather not ask Phil if David spoke to him, but I would like to know if Phil follows the shall not lie command. Although I enjoy volunteering at the Food Bank, if I learn he did not tell David the truth, I doubt I will help out at that one anymore.

I do plan to attend the Thanksgiving feast, but doubt I will volunteer to serve.

Normal Sensibilities

2011-11-16T15:32:00.000-08:00

I do not know if I am a person of normal sensibilities. Long Beach City Noise Ordinance using those words. A noise has to be disturbing to a person of normal sensibilities.

Maybe a person who is normal can fall to sleep listening to a dripping water faucet. I can not. They call it Chinese Water Torture for a reason. Maybe normal people can not fall to sleep listening to a helicopter circling the building. I can. A quote making the rounds among my Facebook friends goes something like this:

If you think you are too small to make a difference, think about a mosquito buzzing around your head when you are trying to sleep.

Normal sensibility? The floor is vibrating due in time to LOUD thump, thump, thumping. It is coming from a person who lives across the alley that is behind my building. I sit here wishing one of that person's neighbors would call the police. I could tell dispatcher the horribly loud music (is that music?) can be heard clearly by cops if they drive patrol car down alley; about midway. And what if the people turn it off prior to police arrivals?

I need to go take a walk on the next block to get the apartment complex street address. I may have already done so. Perhaps I even scribbled it on a slip of paper, so I would not forget to write it down when I got home. That went on for hours one Sunday; not the first time the over loud music was coming from that apartment complex. I do not know how people who live next door or near bars function, be it juke box or live band.

It feels like Sunday today. I think I am so disoriented due to this week's noise disturbances, that I can not wrap my mind around it really being Saturday. I am considering just leaving; go join the Occupy Long Beach protest downtown; if I could nap during the day (did not work last time, let me try it again), stay up all night (that was easier to do, street living). It is the only way I can hope to save enough money for first month's rent and security so that I can move.

Shall I simply stop paying rent here? Let them evict me? Get another bad mark on my Credit Report? Was a time I had a perfect credit report and rental history. Well, I do, still, have perfect rental history...

Ruin that due to ignorant, rude neighbors and manager that does not enforce noise ordinance? Um...

POP!!!

Is it normal to jump when someone unexpectedly explodes a firecracker? Does a car backfiring cause a normal person's heart to skip a beat? What about the soft pop, pop, pop of gunfire? Or louder extort from rifle or shotgun? I do feel like I am living in a war zone, always on guard, anxious, nervous energy, ready for fight or flight due to Chris and John's disregard for other neighbor's sensibilities.

Silence...

2011-11-16T11:09:00.000-08:00

...is golden. When I woke this morning, took out one earplug ~ other must have feel out during a restless sleep ~ took pillow off of head, headed to kitchen to put water in microwave for coffee, then to bathroom. After finishing making the instant coffee, I picked up laptop off floor, placed it on upended heavy plastic milk crate I use as a table, moved same to in front of couch and sat down.

Then I turned off song playing on Windows Media Player, Sleep playlist and as theysay, Omigod! Silence! Chris must have turned off his radio sometime after midnight. I was not sure whose noise I heard from under the pillow. It was 11:32PM when I hit the sack. Only got up once to pump up the volume and still could hear the noise, 'tho barely could hear my playlist songs. When I got up, I did the usual trip to bathroom and John's TV that was barely audible when I readied myself for bed, was louder.

Thus it may have been John's TV or a combination of John's TV and Chris' radio that was preventing me from falling to sleep.

Silence did not last long. Men talking, Chris' guests. I peeked out of blind ~ I could see the fat man inside sitting on Chris' bed, holding something that looked like a brown beer bottle. Do they still make brown beer bottles? I dunno. Another man was standing under the tapestry so that only his long, thin legs were visible. The screen door was ajar. I opened my door, hoping to determine if fat man is Bill. Sort of sounds like Bill's voice.

Not getting a better view, I shut my door quietly. I considered slamming it as I do when I open it to determine whose TV/Stereo/Radio is producing that dang burn noise. Knowing it is Chris' I slam my door purposely.

The 6AM conversation did not last very long. Not all that loud. Annoying on principle. Soon John and his lady are at it in the kitchen. Well not a thing to do if a person and guest are talking in his kitchen. Can not say how LOUD they are talking, if it were possible for them to lower their voices when in kitchen ~ specifically early AM and late, late PM. Yeah right.

I hear Mr. Manager outside. Wish Chris' still had radio on so Mr. M would hear it. Not sure who he was talking to other than his nephew. I am in a foul mood thinking back to the months I have been suffering, believing that Mr. M had called Beasley's and they had sent Chris an official letter back in September. I have been suffering Chris longer than that ~ like 3 years of tolerating his violations of House Rules & Regulations in regard to noise and disturbing neighbors.

John and lady have another loud session in kitchen, longer than the earlier one. I was hungry, but did not want to go in my own kitchen until they were out of his. Soon Chris' radio begins again, louder than it has been, meaning it is even more annoying. I open door, shut it with a bang, which is about when I went in kitchen, to mic more water for more coffee and opened the back door.

Surprised, Chris lowered the volume. Ah Silence! Until John and lady start talking to Chris. Will Sunday ever come? Will John be back to work Sunday evening? Will Ms. Lady be carrying on in his apartment disturbing my peace all day long even when he is not there? Will Phil tell Mr. M. the truth? How am I to survive?

cough, ka-cough, Mr. Lady friend talking again...

11/12/11

John's Bath Mat

2011-11-15T10:53:00.000-08:00

This is no big deal, John (or his lady friend) hanging his bath mat on front gate. I am sure I can open and close the gate with no problem. Yet it strikes me as rude. I can not imagine him deciding to hang it on main front gate like that. Plus it may start raining again at any minute. Imagine the mat getting soaking wet, then getting a shower when entering or leaving building via that gate.

I was just remembering something John did when he first moved into the complex. He left a bicycle tire wheel laying on the ground, directly in front of that gate. At that time I used the front gate a lot, and I simply moved it away from the gate, close to wall under his kitchen window. It is just ignorant to block an entrance/exit, and told me a lot about John's personality.

He promptly added other items to the sidewalk, then his bicycle. The space is very narrow, plus there are those vines that spread onto court walk. Pre-John, I would be outside sweeping the sidewalk from gate to gate on a daily basis. I also braided the vines in the chain links or around each other, forcing them to grow in the direction I wanted them to go ~ up, down, any which way except spilling over onto walk space.

I recently did that. The thick green leaf vines that produce pretty little yellow flowers, were so overgrown they touched his door. I am short; for a while they were all over my head. I trimmed the lower ones. No sense in braiding when they will all be chopped down (along with my morning glory vines) by handy men. Some day.

The ones outside the gate are harder to braid ~ pickers on them. They have pretty flowers also, but hanging low on other side of gate. Last time I went out the gate I had to take a minute to clip or braid some of both sets of overhanging fauna. I also got a stick one day to wipe away spider webs growing on door knob.

I periodically remove spider webs from my windowsills. Not John; his windows give the appearance of a haunted house. The gate door knob spider webs extended to his door. I know he uses the door, but I guess he does not use front gate or notice those things.

11/12/11

We Didn't Start The Fire

2011-11-14T11:21:00.000-08:00

How does the line go in Billy Joel's quasi-rap tune: We Didn't Start The Fire. Okay I looked it up:

Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal suicide
Foreign debts, homeless Vets, AIDS, Crack, Bernie Goetz

Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law
Rock and Roller cola wars, I can't take it anymore

Only wanted the line: I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!! Not sure if I was aware of "homeless Vets".

Approximately 3:37AM Saturday night (Sunday morning?) I called Long Beach Police Department. First time I have called the dispatch number to get a recorded message that someone would answer the call (whatever it said) shortly. Wanted to hang up. If the phone line is that tied up, did not want to bother police with my silly problem. Only it is not silly to me.

Sleep deprivation is a form of abuse. Five days and nights of Chris' radio, alternating with his television was 5 days too much. So tempted to call manager at 10:30PM, or midnight. Maybe waking that man from sleep to ask him to come downstairs and tell Chris he is in violation of House Rules & Regulations (rather than telling him 'neighbor complained, lower it') will get Mr. Manager to understand that IT. IS. HIS. JOB. to enforce rules.

Mr. Manager knows Chris called me a fucking bitch last time I had the audacity to ask him to lower his voice. My requests over the past three years have fell on Chris' deaf ears. I tolerate, tolerate, tolerate until I can't take it anymore. Maybe if I keep waking Mr. Manager up when he is asleep he will understand that he has to DO. HIS. JOB. Not placate me with lies. He probably never did "call his case manager right now" back in September, 2010. I talked to the woman when I saw her entering the building as I was checking my mail.

Coming from me is not the same as coming from the manager who can tell her, if Chris does not start obeying the House Rules & Regulations, he will be evicted. They (mind blanks, what does Mike call the organization, um) obtained the apartment for Chris, John, and Mike. Maybe others. I know Doug and Darryl are Village people. I assume Safe Haven or MHA Village workers helped them get an apartment here, same as myself.

Getting to be another too long blog post. Police arrived around 4:47AM. I opened my door when I heard front gate rattling and "Police, open up". I heard noise from John's apartment. When I went outside, prior to making my call to LBPD I noticed the wind blew the screened gate open fairly wide. If John saw it, maybe he pulled it closed, locked. No, a policeman was standing in front of Chris' door calling out: Police, open the door.

"Who is it?" Chris asked several times. Maybe it was Chris. How many times does a police officer have to announce "It is the police"? Of course Chris and his guest were probably sound asleep, unlike myself.

Will continue this post later.

How does it go?

2011-11-13T21:33:00.000-08:00

It is not the size of the mountain ahead that wears you out, it is the pebble in your shoe?

I had fan on and radio most of the day to drown out Chris' dat burn radio noise. Did I mention the talking just shy of 7AM? See, can not think straight; confused. Was not sure who Chris' early morning visitors were, so got up to look ~ do not think he sneaks Bill into his apartment anymore. Bill may be dead. Heard Chris tell someone one day "he died" and since there are no longer the constant phone calls between Chris and Bill, I am thinking that someone may be Bill.

Doug opens the door, pushes aside the wall tapestry Chris now has hanging in front of his door, steps inside followed by a shirtless, fat man ~ okay he was not obese, so no nicer way to say it comes to mind at the moment ~ big man, bends over to enter, balding. I think it may be Bill. I am up and down off the couch to keep peeking out of the blinds hoping to see his face. Which I did.

Not Bill. He and Doug head towards front gate. The man is wearing skin tight shorts, maybe spandex biker shorts? Gross looking, both he and Doug look like they just got out of bed. Their talking with Chris continued inside. So that was how the morning of the 11th started ~ 4AM, inferno radio noise, John & lady noise, Doug & Chris & company noise.

By 9am I had it even though there had been a lull for a while.

After shutting off the fan and later my radio, I just tolerated Chris' party. Sounded like they were having a belching contest going. I heard a woman talking, I thought she told Chris to shut his door, then a woman calling someone an asshole. I think it was two different ladies. Then John's lady yelling inside his apartment. Not yelling in a bad way, yelling in the manner of speaking to someone who is in the other room.

I opened the back door; was to have rained, but got a glimpse of the moon; opened it and hear Chris' big mouth. WTF? Then John & his lady. I guess the three went out (for dinner) and Chris left his radio blaring when they went out. I thought for a few seconds that he lowered it. No such luck.

Odd, it was a bit past 8:30PM and eerily quiet. It was almost as if Chris read my mind; a few minutes later the radio starts up again. None of it makes sense. I heard two people talking, very quietly in John's apartment, so when did the 3 of them go out? Whatever. Have to sign off on another waste of blogosphere space.
11/11/11 9:52PM

No night, night for me

2011-11-12T21:21:00.000-08:00

night night,sleep tight,don't let the bed bugs ... by alyceclover

Be a clothing affiliate with Zazzle.

Vicky from Gibsonia, Pennsylvania purchased my Night, Night sleep shirt. I do believe the shirt was yellow when I created it. Many changes at Zazzle, perhaps it converted to white. It can be customized, such as:

night night,sleep tight,don't let the bed bugs ... by alyceclover

View more Sleep T-Shirts

People who purchase from my gallery become Zazzle customers which is why I can never properly thank my few and far between buyers.

So when I spoke to Mr. Manager earlier today (11/11/11) he says he is calling Beasley's Investments. As I sit here suffering listening to that inferno buzz from Chris' TV, I wonder why I did not ask: well what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Mr.Manager was at work; I thought he worked an early morning shift; maybe it changed. Now he gets home after 8PM. Have not heard his arrival; no lights on in his upstairs apartment as far as I can see.

I am on the verge of insanity. Truly do not think I can tolerate another second of it, let alone a minute or however long it takes for Mr. Manager to remind Chris about House Rules. I consider calling the police. Feel they will not take it any more seriously than my manager ~ it is not club level volume. Yet I think a police officer tapping on Chris' door might be the thing to make him realize he can not continue to disturb his neighbor's peace.

I am so agitated, I can not think straight to do anything I should be doing. I managed to check my e-mail account and found the "Your product has sold!" message. Even that did not lighten my mood.

11-11-11

2011-11-11T15:56:00.000-08:00

Oh, of course I forgot it was 11/11/11 today, so no notice of clock reaching 11:11AM this morning. Of course I was ready to spit nails by that time. Up since 4AM, Chris' radio filtering into my apartment ~ not club level loud or even real loud (unless I open my front door) ~ just ratatat tat, rat a tat tat or eeeerrrnurn or buzzzzzzzz ~ keeps me awake nights and makes me lose concentration days. Like yesterday when I could not finish an article I wrote, nor read a book that I should have finished days ago.

John has a lady friend staying with him. Again. Loud mouth she is and as noisy as John. Then there is his TV and/or stereo/radio ~ thump, thump, thump, urrrrrnnnnn, buzzzzzzz.

Get knots in my stomach when I think to call manager and complain. Again. Well, I had enough and Mr. Manager promised me that he would call owners and they would send him an official letter...

Where did I hear that one before? Oh back in September when I waited every day, to see when Chris would finally realize he needs to quiet down or shut his door. That promised letter was never sent, I guess. Liars. Well Mr. Manager suddenly paid attention: "Who did he do that to?" and "When?" and "Why did nobody tell me?".

Okay, so now Mr. Manager is going to talk to "them". So what if Phil denies the truth? I do not expect Doug or John to be honest with Mr. Manager. Why should they be? They are Chris' friends. If Phil does not tell the truth and Mr. Manager thinks I am lying, why then I am no longer going to help Phil's church with the Food Bank. Mr. Christian that he is, I hope he tells the truth, or I will truly be spitting nails.

Choke Hold

2011-11-10T15:56:00.000-08:00

Oh, did I write about that here? Chris putting Phil in a choke hold until Phil passed out? I need to check it, then remove this post if I blogged about it already.

No Hablo Espanol

2011-11-08T11:05:00.000-08:00

Finally got around to pulling all the dead Morning Glory vines out of my mini (very mini) garden. I was in process of pulling other dead leaves from vines when a lady stands at gate saying something. I was not sure what language she was speaking but assumed and said my usual "No hablo Espanol". She kept chattering away, so finally I walked up to the gate and said: "No comprende". Did that stop her? Nah.

It is not the first time a woman has stood at the side gate speaking to me. Other times, the person would speak English, or a mixture of English/Spanish which made it possible for us to communicate. The only words I caught from this morning's lady was casa and apartment. At first I thought she was asking if one of my neighbors was home; said the number two ~ in English.

I finally said "No, no apartments for rent here." She kept blabbing away. I finally said "Dirty," stooping to rub my hand over John's doormat, maybe I said carpet, maybe rug or floor. Then she hands me a crumpled business card, handing it over top of gate or door. It was for a massage business. She says "Massage?"

Oy vey! She kept talking, it all sounding like gibberish, not resembling any language I ever heard. I started to think: my, she is trying to speak English and mangling the words. I handed her the card back over the fence, said "No money", rubbing my thumb and index fingers together, (don't ask me why, I am clueless), desperately trying to remember the Spanish word for money, but "moola" kept it at bay. I was becoming irate. She clearly said the word: money. WTF?

I turned to walk back to continue doing what I was doing before she uninterrupted me, maybe if I ignore her she will go away, as I look back, she is picking up a board. The board has been there ever since I moved here. Think it covered a hole around gas meters. There are two boards actually. Sometimes I think John moved one, and I have to replace it to its spot along the wall.

Maybe the lady is a thief, I think, trying to get inside the complex. Maybe the board is part of her plan. But, no, she places the board off the ground atop the back of the gas meters then walks away.

Sh*t My Dad Says

2011-11-06T14:34:00.000-08:00

Sh*t My Dad Says written by Justin Halpern is such a short book I should have finished reading it the day I checked it out of the library. Instead I read a chapter or two and the in between chapter highlights. Example: the heading in On Legos, then there is a short sentence of something Justin's father said. I think there are ten headings between each chapter; some of the chapters are only a couple of pages long. As mentioned, short, easy read that I am considering removing the bookmark and moving on to another book.

One chapter is about the time Justin's mother decided they were going to eat like the people she helped when doing volunteer work. They were "parents on welfare" and "homeless families". She had visited a grocery store in San Diego (or there about) where "some" of the families she worked with shopped. She decided to shop there spending only the amount of food stamp benefits the poor she helped were getting.

Justin continues the story describing the inedible meals his mother began serving. Even his father refused to eat one of those meals. I have experienced both food stamps and shopping in cheap grocery stores. I have never been forced to starve, or eat day old bread (until living on the streets), or make gross meals.

Times may have changed since her experiment (meant to teach her sons what it is like to be poor and hungry), yet twenty-some years ago, food was a lot more affordable than it is today. It was not unusual to get meat bones free. I am guessing: maybe a package of bones costs all of 37 cents. The gist: less than a dollar. Ten cans of tuna fish on sale cost a dollar. I think a dollar would buy 20 cans of Campbell's soup ~ on sale. Del Monte canned vegetables went on sale 5 for a buck.

Pork and beans or hot dogs were quite cheap. A bag of dried split peas is still cheap, although a bit more in cost than they used to be. Franks and beans may not be the most nutritious meal, but it was edible and affordable. In today's economy with the cost of everything delivered constantly rising, it is not as easy to get bargain foods. I still do not buy day old bread, but I no longer buy the oat grain bread I used to. I do buy store brand cheap hot dog buns which is basically the same as the white bread that I stopped eating many years ago. (Exception: living on streets.)

Sh*t My Dad Says, continued

2011-11-05T14:34:00.000-07:00

Sh*t My Dad Says is billed as being hilariously funny and brilliant. I guess there is a lot of humor there. Yet rather than finding the things Halpern's father said, funny, I see a verbally abusive father. His language is uncouth, to borrow a word my mother would use to describe my father.

Yet my father never used the F-word, never called people assholes (I admit, I have, but never my children), and frowned upon vulgar language in front of children. He did use the word stupid referring to us kids. Yet compared to Halpern's father, mine was a saint. I can not imagine growing up in a home where the things Justin's father said were normal, everyday utterances.

Perhaps that is the reason I am having trouble reading the book; some interesting family tales in it, but the repetition of hearing his father say shit or fucking asshole, is simply boring.

Occupy Long Beach

2011-11-03T20:04:00.000-07:00

"After reading an article about Occupy Long Beach, I took a trip downtown to investigate. News reports are not always accurate. Famous people are often misquoted, even non-famous people like myself get misquoted or misrepresented. Reporters often put their own spin on things, coloring readers perceptions with choice of words to report news.What I found after talking to several demonstrators and homeless people, is that local press' accounting of Occupy Long Beach was accurate."

That is how I started an article I wrote for Yahoo Contributor. The article was over 900 words and I edited it to death trying to whittle it down closer to the 400 word site standard. I can see, I made a big mistake when I deleted the entire first paragraph.

My next sentence was stand alone, intending to be a paragraph heading:

Why talk to the homeless?

Then I wrote a brief history of Lincoln Park, leading up to it being a long time hang out for the city's street population. Well, I thought to myself, who cares about what Andrew Carnegie did in 1908 ~ irrelevant except that I was leading up to proximity to City Hall and main library. Then I wrote about the conversations I had with people at the park.

I found a comment on my article from someone other than a YC peer, which is quite unusual. After raging me about my "lies" it ended:

"Are you just repeating gossip? Do you not feel any responsibility for what you write to be true?"

Well, gee, she needs to take it up with the Press-Telegram reporter and protester Johnathan Allen who was quoted in the article. I felt comfortable that I had verified the P-T facts after speaking to the people who have first hand knowledge.

The other thing I did wrong was title my article: Homeless vs. Occupy Long Beach. Because I edited out so much of the article, I could not title it: My Look at Occupy Long Beach. I did not like the sound of The Homeless and Occupy Long Beach. My focus is homelessness. Occupy Wall Street Comes To Long Beach? Yeah, about two weeks ago. I could have written a news report article, based on information garnered from the Press-Telegram, but that would basically be rewriting news which we are not allowed to do.

I had intended to take photos with permission to publish them, get full names and quotes from people I spoke to, again with permission to publish names or "did not want name used".

I truly regret not going with my full article. Describing Lincoln Park to someone who has never been to Long Beach was informative. I did not know when I wrote the article that Occupy Long Beach has its own website and Facebook page. If the woman who left me the comment did not like this article she is going to loathe the opinion article I started writing in my head...

...watching the arrest of two protesters, via Live Stream, sometime after 4AM, after another neighbor caused sleepless night in Long Beach. (11/1/11)

Homeless Students

2011-11-02T19:19:00.000-07:00

This is actually November 1st post; got sidetracked.

Press-Telegram online article is about homeless students being helped by Bethune Transitional Center. I do not recall ever hearing about this program, which was founded in 1991. I am aware that Long Beach has homeless students. Some families live with relatives, overcrowded in small apartments. Others live out of vehicles. Some live out of shelters. Less live on the streets, but they are there.

The article says that 1,054 students were classified as homeless in 2009; 2,300 in 2010; "and more than double that number" in 2011.

The article is not clear. A photo shows a 46-year-old women with her son, "... in their one-bedroom apartment on October 10, 2011." Does that mean she and her son were put into the apartment by Bethune? It says she was homeless for eight years, fled an abusive boyfriend in Orange County getting help from Long Beach's domestic violence shelters. Does that mean she and her son lived in a domestic violence shelter for eight years? Or did Bethune help them into that apartment prior to when the photo was taken?

The boy is sixteen now, meaning he was eight when his mother became homeless. Sad way for a child to grow up.

Sleepless in Long Beach

2011-11-01T19:19:00.000-07:00

Wanted to title post: bad day at the office, which is about as clever as the title I settled upon.

Three times neighbor Chris' loud talking prevented me from going to sleep when I was tired. Three times I did not call the police about his violating, both complex House Rules and city noise ordinance. Have been waiting for the opportunity ever since I spoke to a police at park one day. Reason I did not call: Chris' loud talking was not coming from his apartment or the courtyard; was coming from John's apartment.

Last night I wondered if they were having an argument, John's normal voice is loud ~ not as loud as Chris' ~ seemed Chris was agitated. It also seemed that John was in courtyard in front of Chris' apartment talking loud at the same time Chris' voice was coming through my kitchen wall, loud and clear. Thought for a moment Chris' had his speaker phone on, which made little sense. Whatever.

They started about 11PM; last I looked at clock it was 11:40. I was agitated. I think Chris returned to his apartment, but how much noise and for how long would John be making it? Would he lower his radio (or TV)? Finally decide to turn on WMP Sleep playlist, earplugs, pillow over head.

Perhaps the title of this post could be: tossing and turning. How did the song go: Kicked the blanket on the floor. Well, I did not actually kick them, they got tangled up as I changed position, head in opposite direction then it had been. Then off to the toilet. Think I had to fix the two blankets three times and still, tossing and turning. I know I fell to sleep because I was dreaming. Heart racing when I again went to the bathroom to empty bladder.

Was not exactly a nightmare, bad guy about to break in through window; me calling cops, telling them to please hurry: 25 Charles Street, I say it louder, shooing my daughters, much younger than they are today, down the stairs. May have been 2AM. Trouble drifting back to sleep though practically sleep walked to toilet.

Up again, was sometime after 3, then again a little after 4AM. After hitting the john another time, lay back down, I still get that body signal that means it is time to empty the bladder. Up again, not even a trickle. Think: there must be something wrong with the plumbing ~ my insides. Lay back down, still have that must get to a toilet feeling and shortly gave up going back to sleep.

Too tired to do anything, hung out at Facebook playing games, finally going back to bed at 8AM.

A lot of words there. Alternative title would be a lot of words also: How Chris' Violation of (blah, blah, blah) Is Affecting My Physical and Mental Health. Aargh!

Halloween

2011-10-31T15:25:00.000-07:00

Black Cat Postage Stamp by alyceclover
Browse Black Postage

It has been a long time since I considered celebrating Halloween. I no longer remember Halloween on the streets. I saw a sign on telephone poll advertising a Halloween costume contest. The bar is not far from here. I made mental note to look it up online, because the sign was missing a bit of important info: the date the contest is taking place. I did amuse myself as I continued my walk to the library the first time I saw one of the signs posted.

I will dress as a homeless bag lady, I thought, planned out my outfit in my head as I walked. Sort of like "come as how you are" for me, even though I am no longer living on the streets, would not take much to make myself look the part.

It was seeing black cats (and witches, and pumpkins, and so on) for several weeks, that inspired me to create a black cat postage stamp. That is Lynx, may she Rest in Peace, one of the grand many grand cats. Lynx and Havoc were California cats; they lived with me in Pennsylvania for a year or so. Back to CA, then moved back to PA with their mom and, um, step-dad. When I stayed with my daughter in Pennsylvania, I again lived with Lynx.

It is snowing there today (October 29, 2011), not sure when the photo of Lynx tepidly walking in newly fallen snow was taken.

Peace Pilgrim for Halloween

2011-10-30T08:42:00.000-07:00

I think the last time I dressed up in costume for Halloween was October, 2001. Universal Care, my employer, allowed workers to come to work in costume that day. I was happy to dress up as Peace Pilgrim ~ sneakers, jeans, t-shirt, my favorite clothes. Well, actually shorts and a tank top are favorite, weather permitting. First thing home from work was to ditch the work outfits in favor of something comfortable.

Of course, none of my co-workers knew who Peace Pilgrim was. I guess "was" is the proper word for a person no longer walking among the living. That is what Peace Pilgrim did: she started walking across the United States in 1952 and did not stop for 28 years. Fairly unusual for a lone female to travel alone, on foot, in those days. Her body became acclimated to the weather; she wore, sneakers, jeans, shirt and tunic. She vowed to walk until there was peace on earth, would only eat if offered food, and would accept rides, preaching the ways of peace in her travels.

Becoming homeless, that is who I wanted to be: Peace Pilgrim II (I have learned there are already Peace Pilgrim two's). I practiced walking, but only made it from Long Beach to Huntington Beach at any given time. I am not as brave as Peace Pilgrim. My fear is not so much humans, but of wild animals, even stray dogs. I am also very unfond of bugs. Okay unfond is not a word...

I am very averse to bugs.

I was happy that Halloween, everything in my life was right. For the most part anyway. I miss that time when the future was ahead of me ~ a today that was to have been much different than it turned out to be.

A story about another Halloween costume ~ the year I dressed as Slash.

Alley Sleeper

2011-10-29T20:38:00.000-07:00

This man was sound asleep, so I could have walked around to get a photo that clearly showed his face and backpack which to his left next to chain link fence; doubt the click of cell phone camera would have woken him. The last time a man was sleeping in exactly the same spot, he looked up as I moved the chain to access padlock.

No way to do that quietly. It annoys me that the men twist the chain around the links, making it so tight, I have to struggle to get in or out of my own apartment complex. I miss the pre-padlock days. Much easier to get inside the gate when arriving home with groceries, coffee travel mug, and/or library books in hand.

What do these guys think, I wonder, that someone will come along with a chainsaw, or what ever kind of saw would be needed to cut through metal chains, to gain access to the apartment complex? I see no other reason for the way they wrap it up snug. It seems to me when the manager had the padlock and chain added, there was a reason for the length of it. That padlock needs to be accessible from both inside and outside the door.

Now and then I would see a person sleeping next to the garage wall and our complex fence, but not right up front like that, feet in alley. I am not sure if guy pictured is the same guy was there a week or so ago. I know that one, by face. Have often seen him as I walk up or down my alley. Sometimes he is dumpster diving. We always speak; he often tells me he thought I was so and so ~ a lady I think lives at the Grace Hotel around the corner; a most likely homeless or former or mostly homeless lady.

It is rather rude to take pictures of sleeping bums; I have done so at other times, but since I might know this man, opted for a feet only view.

What are they?

2011-10-28T17:54:00.000-07:00

At Saturday's Food Bank I got stuck doing produce again. I say stuck, because there is not much work space. Last time I helped, I was first sorting onions, ditching bad ones, the rest put in a box. With no more boxes, or room on table or floor to put onion filled boxes, I started helping fill bags. They double up the grocery store plastic bags that are now banned in Long Beach. There was really no place to put the bags other than on top of a sorted onion box. Due to double bagging, it was hard, strange at that seems, to open them to put the onions inside.

From there the bags are passed on to another volunteer who adds whatever produce item she was adding, on to a third person. I was filling my bags faster than the lady next to me and there was no place for me to put more of them. Two long rectangle folding tables were placed behind where I stood. They were quickly being filled up with bags of canned goods being prepared by people on the other side of the room. I was able to put onion bags there, but the third or fourth person down my row doing produce was also filling it with produce bags.

Way down the end of my row a guy was chopping heads off celery, and likewise filling produce bags with some more people. It got crowded and a bit confusing. When we were basically out of onions and other stuff, more boxes of mixed produce arrive and filled our now mostly empty table; start filling more produce bags. Since we had used up most of the other stuff ~ like onions ~ there was less to put in the bags.

Will return to that subject later, so anyway this week I got stuck doing produce again. No huge bags of large, sweet, red onions this week. I was disappointed. Seldom buy onions, once a staple of my pantry, anymore. Never used this type, only the cheap, small brown onions; once in a while a Bermuda onion, sometimes scallions, especially when I had a garden.

There were huge bags of something. "What are they?" one of the ladies asked. I suggested rutabagas or maybe parsnips. A Google image search shows me I was way off on the parsnips. As luck would have it, I got one of the bags to take home that had the three of them pictured above. Later in the day Mike yelled for me, asking something about the Food Bank or telling me something about his which was on the same day.

Then Phil, walking by, joined the conversation and Mike left in a huff. I mentioned something about us ladies not knowing what they were. "Beets," says Phil, "it said it right on the bag." Du'oh moment fer sure.

Odd though, as I remember it, the reason I thought maybe parsnips because I swear the ones I was pulling from the bag as I sorted were not all round balls; they seemed to have long, thin, um, sprouts around the edges. My vegetable image search, now I am thinking the sprout-looking thingys were actually roots, perhaps, some of the beets grew so close together they became attached like Siamese twins.

I never liked beets. I force self to eat them, usually pickled beets I made myself. Not made with fresh beets; do not know if I ever had fresh beets; but from canned beets. I made a lot of pickled beets and eggs, because my ex loved them. I continued making them when we were no longer a couple because my kids liked them. So I would take a very few ~ know they are healthy ~ to mix with mashed potatoes when eating them.

Eye Tics and Hives

2011-10-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

I forgot to send myself this photo; must be a way to find date it was taken with cell phone. You may ask: What is it? It is my arm (below elbow, above wrist).

One morning shortly after I woke, walking from bathroom back towards kitchen, my arm was terribly itchy. I stuck my hand under the sleeve of my sleep shirt giving it a good scratch as I went to make coffee. Back to Great Room, still itchy, I pushed the sleeve back to scratch some more and was horrified by large, violently red blotches covering my forearm. This picture does not do the horror justice to the horror I saw. Skin cancer developed overnight? Sudden appearance of liver spots? Hives?

I did not think they were hives; know hives itch like crazy, but think they are raised bumps, not flat like this mysterious rash on my arm. I had been spending more time, hence my thought about skin cancer. Skin irritations are caused by something, right? Hives made sense to me; total irritation with neighbor Chris' coughing keeping me awake when I want to go to sleep; listening to it all day long; hearing it first thing in the morning when I am emptying my bladder or in kitchen making my instant coffee.

The rash went away a day or so later and I forgot all about it until yesterday when I viewed my phone's photo album for lack of anything better to do to pass three minutes until dryer was done at laundromat.

About two weeks ago my eyes began to twitch uncontrollably. It took me a while to Google search "eye tic causes" and that is how I learned they are actually twitches. One of the causes is stress. Since I noticed the eye would start doing its thing when I was getting more irritated by the minute listening to Chris coughing or talking ~ sometimes talking to John ~ I thought an imminent heart attack was about to happen. Signs of impending heart attack is not listed as cause of eye twitches.

Other causes are tiredness and eye strain. Oh my, that tiredness one might truly apply ~ my eyes are often heavy with sleep, thank you very much, I can't help it if I cough Chris.

I start writing a letter to the manager explaining the physical ill-effects of Chris' constant, daily violation of House Rules and Regulations in addition to the City of Long Beach's Noise Ordinance. That in itself is stressful. I write too much and need to start over. The constant eye tics stopped, and start right up again whenever I hear Chris' voice or LOUD cough. I guess just writing about it here is causing me stress; left eye corner is sending me a very light tic right now.

Occupy Long Beach

2011-10-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

The Press-Telegram archives articles, so link to Occupy Long Beach article may not work much longer.

The P-T online website is so annoying due to pop up ads including the type that slide onto the screen covering article titles before one has a chance to, view them with no X to close the unwanted ad, I seldom visit anymore. Since the paper offers little news, I stopped buying that to save up those quarters. Yet, I do scan headlines, buying the paper when there is something I want to read. When I visit the online version, I check titles for recent stories. That is why I truly believe this is the first P-T news report of Occupy Long Beach which has been ongoing for eleven days.

I did not see any Los Angeles Times mention of the LB protest. If I had, I would have made the trip downtown to get some photos and talk to some of the people. Should do it today; probably will wait until tomorrow. Motive is to gather first hand report for a Yahoo Contributor article. Might actually generate some page views!

Lincoln Park in Long Beach has been a long time home for those without one. The article mentions homeless Lincoln Park residents joining with the demonstrators, flocking to them for food and sometimes fighting with them over territory. The group may move to a different park. Leaders of the local group reached an agreement with police: they have to exit Lincoln Park at closing, but can move their tents to Pacific Avenue sidewalk to get some slumber.

How nice. I wonder if homeless residents set up tents near Lincoln Park, on the sidewalks, if they too would be undisturbed. Dare I say: ROFL or as this case might be, on the ground or sidewalk.

Bet Your Bones

2011-10-25T20:29:00.000-07:00

Were there any mentions of homeless people in Bet Your Bones by Jeanne Matthews? Dunno; has been a while since I read it.

But, since my original endeavor creating websites and blogs was to ask people to lend a hand up, not a hand out, it seems appropriate that I post links to my articles here, even if they have zero to do with homelessness.

When I was without Internet, I went back to my old habit of reading a book a day. When daughter offered to get me connected to the 'net I started writing book reviews. Not that Yahoo Contributor is interested in them...

Oh how I hate editing my articles! Have to force myself to do so. Slowly getting those reviews done and published. The title also links to my review of Bet Your Bones.

This Homeless Life

2011-10-24T22:09:00.000-07:00

Posted November 23, 2010, this seems to be the first blog post from Joseph2dogs' blog This Homeless Life:

My Story is no different

than any other story

"I Was Not A good Father,A good Son ,A good Husband,An upstanding church member or member of society as a whole for that matter,what I was good at was being homeless a vagabond a modern day nomad at this and this alone i excelled.so I took it to be my station in life.I have lived in almost every state in the union..."

I have not read much of this homeless blogger's blog as I only happened upon it earlier today via Facebook friend Project 50/50.

Food for Thought

2011-10-16T11:50:00.000-07:00

Back in my pre-homeless days I had a simplified way of looking at food.

Fish is brain food; oatmeal is for healthy skin; citrus fruit is for vitamin C; olives, molasses, spinach are for iron; pasta is for energy; an apple a day does keep the doctor away. I put myself on a New Millennium Diet. No longer recall where I found it; perhaps at Warren Medical Center in Washington, New Jersey. May have been published in one of the center's magazines. My list was photocopied.

Basically the diet was fruit, nuts, vegetables, rice, legumes, perhaps something else. I stopped eating meat, due to super high cholesterol. I used honey, never sugar. I ate a naturally sweetened cereal (name brand escapes me, have not seen it on grocery store shelves in a long time); it was more expensive than regular cereals but I was working, earning enough to afford the splurge.

That diet went right out the window when I began living on the streets. Actually it went right out the window when I was living with other people. With no income, if hungry, one eats what one is served. There were exceptions, but basically food served for homeless and poor people lacks nutritional value. It is often tasteless, stale, overly sugary or, as in the case of milk, spoiled. Many homeless people have poor teeth; Lincoln Park had a lot of apples strewn about, because most groups that gave food to the homeless included apples which they could not chew. Bananas a better fruit choice.

When the Safe Haven program took me off the streets, the first thing I did was to shop for food that would put me back on my no-cholesterol diet. Did not work. I bought, on sale, two bottles of apple juice; maybe even Juicy Juice (all natural). I used to drink apple juice daily. Often mixed with cranberry juice, because I do not like cranberries. The real cranberry juice, not the Ocean Spray kind. Do not remember, maybe six months later, I dumped out the first bottle of juice.

I make feeble attempts to start eating better. Yet with prices doubled, income half of what it used to be ~ less than 1/2 ~ I tend towards buying frozen meals that I can heat in the microwave; no stove in this apartment. I periodically check out prices for fish. Love fish. Food for thought; I think fish would help increase my brain power; improve my memory.

I could do better with a Blog Action Day post on the subject of food. If my memory power was normal, I would have known the date and been prepared, not doing this at last moment. Okay one blog down, several more to go.

I wish...

2011-10-15T11:43:00.000-07:00

...I could read my homeless memories blog posts. My own fault for not letting the documents stay on the laptop; plenty of memory space. At the time, however, the WiFi broke, and some other thing went wrong with it; my way of thinking, if the laptop dies, there goes anything stored, thus everything would be safe saved on discs. C'est la vie.

The reason I wish I could read what I wrote is because forgotten memories pop up and wonder if I wrote about them when I was writing my story.

I do not remember the guy's name, maybe Jesse James. Not the Sandra Bullock/West Coast Choppers Jesse; an older man. Someone was impressed; said something like "I finally got to meet him." I did not know (or maybe it was did not remember) West Coast Choppers Jesse, just sounded vaguely familiar. What I remember was watching a movie. And this old coot sat next to me, talking throughout the film. He was not looking for a relationship, just a friend.

He had some illness, and was going to need in-home care. He suggested he could hire me as a live-in. Whatever. He was homeless at the time; do not remember his story; a usual, "waiting upon, da, da, da, then will be housed again" type thing. Of course he was soon exhibiting signs of wanting a relationship with me. I vaguely recall he was an attractive gentleman.

What brought him to mind was suddenly having a vision (or image pass through my mind) of sitting in a room to view a movie. The only thing I am sure about is it was during the Christmas holiday season; a treat. No idea which shelter or church this took place, even though I can clearly visualize the room, and walking to that room.

The other memory came after I woke from a dream.

Woke from a dream...

2011-10-14T11:44:00.000-07:00

...last night or early this morning; maybe it was 12:43AM.

I was quite tired, as in sleepy, last evening. Thought I was going to have a quiet night because I spoke to John the other day. He told me he was going to be working Friday and Saturday. The day I spoke to him I wondered WTF he was doing, maybe having a physical altercation with someone, judging from sounds coming from his apartment. I had my kitchen window open; got up to go close it, too late, John spotted me. At least now he says "Hi, Mary", not "hi friend" like he used to do.

Since the huge bags of oatmeal I got from food banks, have an odd taste, I know I will never use it all, despite loving oatmeal. I had given John a bag and promptly got another one. I did not see him that day, but left the oatmeal, a bag of dry pinto beans and bag of raisins in the brown bag with handles stuff from food bank was packed inside.

Which is why I decided to open the door when John saw me, to give him the goodies. I love raisins also, but have three bags of them. A lot more than I can eat anytime soon. I wondered if they were raisins; again a funny taste, more like cranberries; very sugary, not at all like raisins I buy in the store.

So, what John was doing that day was cleaning out his apartment, specifically his kitchen. He said someone from Ralph's gave him a push cart. Looked sort of like a display case on wheels. He had the cart loaded with a chair and other unrecognizable stuff. But that has nothing to do with the dream, how I wander offtopic!

Walking in Arizona

2011-10-13T11:53:00.000-07:00

Dream is faded from memory already, even though I replayed it in my head several times as I was falling back to sleep. I was someplace, maybe an airport, Grand Central Station, a shopping mall or factory building. I went in search of a restroom. The restroom was weird. I opened the stall door; so narrow, I had to squeeze inside; had on a backpack. The inside walls were not there, could see a larger handicapped restroom toilet and other facilities. Because it was a struggle to get inside, I walk around the end of the row of stalls, to go behind them, to get to one of those larger rooms, which no longer had any toilets.

I walked to the other end of this very long, wide room and did not find a toilet. I said to a lady "Oh, this is it." Hard to describe, just about waist high, perhaps 1' square thing with a cover. I thought this thing was the toilet, then read it was for washing faces, ONLY. I wandered back the way I had come from unable to find a toilet.

Maybe that happened later. I was on Pacific Avenue, walked north to the bus stop. I saw the bus stopped on other side of intersection. I decide I am going to walk home; beautiful day. Then I had to urinate, which annoyed me, as I had just used a toilet. As I head back south, a man at the bus stop tells me the bus is coming, and I say, I know, I can see it, but I decided to walk home. That may have been the part of the dream where I did not find a toilet, but somewhere in the dream I had already used one.

As I was searching for a toilet two young woman walking slightly in front of me, say "Here it is" or "I found it". I decide to follow them. Yet they walk outside the building. Well, maybe there is another entrance, I think. As we approach the intersection walking past looked more like a factory then mall, lots of greenery, I notice the street sign is Myrtle. I think we have to walk west and it seems it is going to be a long walk to get to that restroom.

Maybe that is why I got on a different bus. I glance out window see the street sign, wonder why bus is not stopping, I keep pulling the cord because I will have to walk back to Myrtle and this bus just keeps on going. That is when I woke up and yes, I did need to urinate in real life. Not quite as urgent as it had felt in the dream.

Something about walking the dream street brought back another forgotten memory; walking in Arizona. I have no clear recall of this; I am guessing it was when I slept at the Greyhound bus station (Slept? Yeah, right!) overnight, spent days roaming the town. I do recall thinking I was not going to be able to walk another step. Seems I walked that street, in an industrial area, more than once. Somewhere along the route, there were no connecting cross streets ~ streets that would take me back to the main drag.

This brings me full circle; I wish I could read my homeless memory blog posts to find out if I wrote about those Arizona days in detail.

COA You Tube Video

2011-10-12T11:36:00.000-07:00

I was searching for information about Food Bank on Redondo Avenue where my neighbors Phil and Mike volunteer. Mike tells me they often cancel giveaways due to running out of food. It is supposed to run the food bank every second Saturday; due to cancellations, the sequence is different than what I had marked on my calendar. I want to volunteer there as well as the one on 7th Street and Obispo.

Like pulling teeth from chicken to find a list of places that host food banks here in Long Beach. I did find this video of the COA. When I was first homeless, staying at Green Leaf Hotel compliments of homeless assistance program, I volunteered to help prepare/serve breakfast at the COA. Also ate many meals there.

The kitchen and dining area shown in video look a whole lot cleaner than when I used to be a regular visitor. The same is true of the clothing room. I got clothes there a few times, sweats and jackets mostly. I also donated clean unwanted items; some my personal things after I realized the backpack and bags were too heavy to hold on to old wardrobe. Other stuff was given to me by people, homed or homeless.

I only went to their food bank once. Canned goods they gave away were too heavy for me to tote around; did not need things that required cooking (rice, noodles and such) and the day I went, not much selection of dry goods (like cereal or snacks) to make it worthwhile to stand in that long line for an hour or more.

I share this COA You Tube Video rather than the first one I found. This says it is for an ABC contest, but the other was basically about the Christmas toy giveaway, whereas this one shows the kitchen, homeless people exiting the dinning area and also the church where we used to listen to a sermon before being allowed to eat dinner.

Orange t-shirts

2011-10-11T13:55:00.000-07:00

When I was at Mike's church Food Bank the other week, I saw round tables under canopies loaded with neat piles of clothing. I asked if we needed a ticket, which we did not. There were many piles of orange t-shirts and I decided I wanted to get one for Halloween; not that I celebrate it anymore, just the idea of it, plus I am in need of t-shirts.

A young woman got to the table area just ahead of me, parking her stroller filled with her food bags in such a way that I could not move around her to get to the pile of t-shirts that were likely smalls. She was going through a pile, then moved on to the next one. I am guessing for the same reason I was not interested in the first pile: all x-large. She kept digging through the pile of mediums, picking out and holding up orange t-shirts to show to a man standing away from the tables, then I guess, getting his nod of approval would toss him a t-shirt.

After she tossed him every orange t-shirt she began on the gray t-shirts. I was annoyed. How many orange t-shirts does a body need? Since I like grey, I decided to try to get a couple of grey ones instead. She did not take any of the grey ones that were almost sleeveless, with a deep v-neck. I did not want any of that type either. I ended up taking a red T and two different shades of gray.

When I got home I washed them in the sink. The red one bled color. Not sure if I will ever wear it. I never liked red; people have told me red shirts compliment my complexion, but I equate red with violence. Plus I do not like to draw attention to myself and red will do that. Not the reason I will probably never wear it; I no longer separate clothes, everything goes into one washer and could not chance tainting all my wardrobe pink should I forget about the non-colorfast red T.

Blog Action Day

2011-10-04T19:32:00.000-07:00

Part of email regarding Blog Action Day.

",,,after having the honor of overseeing Blog Action Day for the past two years, we at Change.org are pleased to announce that we are handing the reins over to VOICE, an organization incubated at Oxfam and supported by ONE.org, Save the Children, WaterAid, the UN Foundation and others.

VOICE connects bloggers with non-profits, charities and established media and helps them to blog at global events like the G20 Summits and UN Climate Change Conference. They couldn’t be better suited to run Blog Action Day going forward.

Secondly, we want to announce that since Blog Action Day 2011 coincides with World Food Day, BAD's topic this year will be FOOD."

Lots to say about food in relation to homelessness, so this will be a piece of cake, or not ~ too much to say on the topic of food to make for easy choice of topic.

Walter Mosley

2011-09-30T13:48:00.000-07:00

(YC) Yahoo Contributor (formerly Associated Content) routinely offers assignments. Seldom do I see a title I am interested in or can write about. When I have seen something I thought I was capable of doing, I checked out the details. Across the board, YC does not offer payment for the articles. I use the example: they want me to go interview the mayor, but do not want to pay me for it?

Basically Yahoo executives in charge of their new acquisition want writers to bring more people to the site, to up their site views, thus enhance their standing with search engines and advertisers. Writers who have a large fan base ~ be it family, offline or online friends ~ will get more article page views, thus more of that paltry page view bonus pennies. I am not one of them.

Wednesday night when I went to YC to publish a book review, I checked assignments. I decided to claim Who Is Your Favorite Author, due today. Instructions said to include a brief author bio with the article. Yikes, not much time to contact author for bio info, write and edit the article, all for no pay. But, since Walter Mosley is a Facebook friend, went ahead and wrote the article. It was a hard article for me to write. What if the man reads it? Oh my.

YC wanted a snappy, attention grabbing headline. Not my forte, headlines. I considered: Walter Mosley Rocks! or Why Walter Mosley Rocks! or Is Walter Mosley an Angry Black Man? But Mosley is not a musician, he is an author. The angry black man thing came from a quote in another book I read: Twelve Angry Men (True Stories of Being A Black Man in America Today). Mosley was not among those twelve, he was quoted regarding his youth and interactions with L.A. cops.

Mosley wants peace on earth, harmony, so I could not justify turning him into an angry, black man for the sake of a few page view pennies. My title is lame: Why Walter Mosley is My Favorite Author. Like who cares!

Guilt By Association

2011-09-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

People do assume guilt by association, ya know, the old saying, birds of a feather stick together, but what is a poor homeless gal to do? Homeless people are major outcasts from society and do more or less stick together. I avoided homeless people for about the first two weeks I lived on the streets of Long Beach. Looking back I can definitely say that I would have been lost if not for help from my peers.

Many of them did things I would not consider doing (like stealing) or did not make a habit of doing (like drinking alcoholic beverages) and perhaps that I associated with them anyway, others found me guilty of their misdeeds. Yet people have family members, close family members even, who do things they would not do and yet associate with each other, they do. That is pretty much how it was during my homeless days, we were like family to each other. Not all of us, but I did have a core group of homeless friends that I would not have been hanging with if I had not been living on the streets.

But this post is not about that kind of guilt by association. It is about a book review I wrote. The book is
Guilt By Association by Marcia Clark. I am not sure why I dislike Marcia Clark, in the way opinions of celebrities get formed without too much knowledge of the person. I hesitated to check the book out of the library. Glad I did; I enjoyed the book.

I do not get paid by Yahoo Contributor (formerly Associated Content) so appreciate any page views you can give me, to earn those page view bonus pennies. Thank you very much.

Sly Stone

2011-09-27T11:59:00.000-07:00

Sly Stone joins the numbers of celebrities that became homeless. According to this short article, he lives in a camper in Los Angeles, California. I wonder if people yell at him from car windows: "Get a job!" I believe he is 68-years-old.

From the New York Post, a better article with photo of Stone's van.

Peace Unveiled

2011-09-26T17:53:00.000-07:00

Charter increased cable rates for the second time in little over a year, so I discontinued it. My neighbors and myself get at least one weekly advertisement from Charter; postcard type or sealed envelope. I got additional ads, offering me a bundle rate for television and telephone. One of the ads offered Internet cable at $14.95. When I got it the cost was advertised at $19.95 ~ that did not include taxes and router rental.

The new rate was a little more than a dollar a day, which is not much, except, after rent, I have $8.00 a day spending money. My goal when I got Internet at home was to earn some spare change. That was not happening, so time to say goodbye to easy web access. Can tell by my recent posts that I went back to reading a book a day. Bored and felt disconnected from the world.

My daughter, Dawn must have taken pity upon me. It seemed simple at first, she could just add a line to her home service as she does for salespeople at her job. That did not work; bottom line, I now have Verizon DSL. Have a mess of papers, trying to finish up book quotes having to do with homelessness, turned over slip of paper and saw "Peace Unveiled". Check the time ~ oops ~ wrong date. The film Peace Unveiled is being shown at downtown Main library branch tomorrow; today is not Tuesday.

Um, perhaps I should just delete this post, eh. Yet that is truly my state of mind ~ never sure what day or date it is. We shall see if I make the effort to be at library by 6PM tomorrow.

Saw Linda

2011-09-25T19:56:00.000-07:00

After Mike filled my pantry, I went to Phil's church on Saturday, the 27th of August. I did not know we needed to get a ticket. When I arrived I was told they were no longer giving out tickets; to wait at end of line and if they had anything left we (others who did not know they needed tickets) might get some food. The line was real long, and very slow moving. Lines at the Samoan church where I used to volunteer moved much faster. I kept checking the time, thinking to just forget about it as did some others like me.

Glad I waited. Got a lot of the same things Mike gave me (rice, noodles, canned goods) but also got a case of Yoplait yogurt, fresh vegetables, huge sweet red onions, nectarines and a dozen eggs. I like yogurt, but not strawberry flavored stuff ~ this was strawberry/banana swirl. Usually stuff like that ~ yogurt, puddings and such ~ with banana flavor is not very tasty. Rather like baby food strained bananas. Strawberries made the roof of my mouth itch as a child, so I spent a lifetime shunning them.

Yet it was free, and I forced self to eat it. Mostly I would use the yogurt cups as a dip for pretzels. I froze a good lot of them. I gave a bunch of them, some frozen, some not to a homeless guy. He used to live in one of the boarded up buildings next to the plot next to my building. Owners are fixing up the place, and he has moved on. He may be living with a lady I often saw walking through the alley. They were pushing a store shopping cart along the alley, rummaging through dumpsters and recycle bins looking for aluminum cans or plastic bottles when I asked if they wanted the yogurt.

Anyway I saw Linda at the food bank that day. The day I volunteered she was there also. She said "Hello Mary", right away and I was mortified. For the life of me I could not remember her name. After a bit, I did recall her husband and asked "How's Fred doing?". Later still someone was talking to Linda and a young woman, over my head, sort of. I thought she said "Verbena". After the conversation, I asked the young lady if her name was Verbena.

"No", Linda said, "her name is (whatever, maybe Lisa), she was talking to me, my name is Lavina. Linda is my middle name." Bingo. Linda, how could I ever forget it. Met her and Fred at New Image Shelter in L.A. They befriended me. Later they hung out in Long Beach. Or went to Orange County shelters. I saw her when I arrived back in Long Beach in 2006. I did not forget her name. I saw her in passing now and then since then and never, ever forgot her name.

Scary.

Food Bank

2011-09-24T19:36:00.000-07:00

Crossing Redondo Avenue at Anaheim Street, I heard that cough. I stopped when I got to the east side of Redondo, to peer at people lined up at a church's food bank. Yup, there was neighbor Chris sitting, possibly on a low border wall. I say I can hear him cough 1/2 a block away, but think the church is closer to a 1/4 block south of the corner.

I thought to walk home, get some bags and go wait in line myself. I know Chris' door was open, but would have liked to verify that he left it open when he left the premises. That is neither here nor there ~ no law saying we must shut our front doors when leaving our apartments ~ his screen door is locked. He started doing this sometime early in August. I thought it odd that he was never leaving his apartment; my little windows of opportunity to open my own door to get some air circulating inside. Um, wrong post, will finish about my nemesis another time.

I decided I had enough food and continued on my walk to the libraray.

I call that church "Mike's church" because he was the one who told me about their food bank. He volunteers there. I usually forget what Saturday it is, even when marked on my calendar. I was paying attention this month, but my calendar notation (which was accurate at the time I noted it) said Mike's church's food bank was the following week.

One night Mike knocked on my door, asking if I ate (whatever, rice, beans, noodles, applesauce). His cabinets were overflowing; he intended to return stuff to his church, but wanted to know if I wanted some of it. He made many trips back and forth to his apartment to bring me canned goods, beans, noodles, and so on. He tells me his church has cancelled the food bank due to running out of food.

I call the church on 7th Street at Obispo "Phil's church" because it is the one he attends. He tells me he also volunteers at Mike's church. A bit past 6:30AM Phil rattles my screen door. Thank you, I was awake; if he had woken me I would have had a fit. I had set alarm clock, but woke groggy (thank you Chris and John keeping me awake all night) and debated if I would go to the food bank to volunteer. I had not promised Phil that I was going to do so.

I did intend to go get my ticket early, say at 8AM; had to be home by noon for Verizon technician. Phil tells me how understanding Mark is. Mark is the man who runs the food bank. He was put out when I told him I could not stay to serve the food; volunteers are required to stay until 1PM. Um...

Verbena

2011-09-19T17:28:00.000-07:00

"If you didn't know him, you could mistake him for one of the homeless guys you saw sleeping on the streets of Atlanta."

Quote from novel Verbena written by Nanci Kincaid.

Homeless: What Image Comes To Mind? is an article I wrote explained in this blog post.

The appearance of character in novel was mentioned which would bring to mind a vivid image of a certain type of homeless person. It could be a homeless person sleeping on the sidewalks of NYC; Newark New Jersey; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Chicago, Illinois; Los Angeles; California or even here in Long Beach. (To name a few places I have seen this particular type of homeless person, given rise to a stereotypical view of all homeless people.)

Animal Dreams

2011-09-18T15:05:00.000-07:00

Animal Dreams written by Barbara Kingsolver was not exactly about animal's dreams, although pondering what animals dream about is mentioned in the story. It is also not about homelessness.

Early in the tale a woman describes says of her sister: "...she cries about bag ladies..." & "She gives them quarters and then wishes she'd given them a dollar." Much later the same woman tells her father: "Basically I'm a bag lady with an education." She thinks people viewing her resume would assume she is a schizophrenic, due to the number of jobs she held, that basically require little more than a high school diploma, such as a 7/11 clerk.

Prior to my homelessness, I figured out that I had the same number of jobs as my age at that time. I included "Mother's Helper" from when I was a young teen, and two stints delivering newspapers, despite one of those routes being my daughter's. She was a year shy of the legit age to get a route, so it had to be in my name; I did help her deliver the papers each morning.

There have been times when I held two or three jobs simultaneously, and some jobs that lasted little more than a day. I did temp work, such as one or two days doing inventory work for retail establishments. I went from waitressing to real estate sales to pick/pack in factory. Perhaps the resume of a schizophrenic or a person with some type of personality disorder. It is insulting, however, to assume that a person is a bag lady because she is uneducated.

Story background:

The Stitch & Bitch Club took a bus to Tuscon meeting up with two ladies who drove a pick up truck filled with pinatas the club members had handcrafted. When a police officer asked to see a sales license, they said they were not trying to sell the pinatas, just using them to get attention about their plight, but accepted donations. Their goal was to raise funds to afford costs associated with fighting a mining company that had polluted the river, poisoning the fruit and nut trees that was their livelihood.

"A small crowd of homeless people had gathered on the other side of the street from where our truck was parked." Two members of the Stitch & Bitch Club "...enlisted a bag lady named Jessie, who owned her own shopping cart." They said Jessie volunteered to fill her cart with pinatas as soon as she heard the townspeople would be losing their homes.

The Dark Side

2011-09-17T14:24:00.000-07:00

Did not expect to see the word "homeless" in "The Dark Side" by English writer Belinda Bauer, but did. Thinking of the reasons he did not like his superior officer (Marvel) Reynolds thought about when he : "....had held a nineteen-year-old homeless man for two days because he'd been near the scene of the crime and 'looked guilty'. "

The story is about a small town where every one knows everyone, thus a shock when an infirm elderly woman is murdered in her home. The "big city" investigators are called in and Marvel takes over the case, humiliating the sole local patrol officer. I figured out who the killer was early on in the story, but interesting just the same.

Prince of Lost Places

2011-09-08T13:21:00.000-07:00

Great little read: Prince of Lost Places by Kathy Hepinstall. After a child was killed in her son's school, Martha kidnaps him (ie: takes him away without her husband's knowledge). Martha plans to keep him safe from all the modern horrors that make a visit to the local McDonald's a risk of getting shot at and/or killed. Mother and son now live in a cave or are effectively homeless, dispite having a home they could go home to, should Martha give up life on the lam.

A man who is wandering the shores of the river where cave is located, could also be considered homeless. He too wants to forget about life for a while. Prince of Lost Places is truly a wonderful story.

Summer in the South

2011-09-07T13:10:00.000-07:00

As a child, Cathy Holton's character, Ava, in "Summer in the South" feared becoming homeless due to her irresponsible, flighty mother's disregard for paying bills, like rent, electric and gas.

The Skin I'm In

2011-09-06T15:28:00.000-07:00

The Skin I'm In is Sharon G. Flake's first novel, copyright 1998. Yet the 174 page book was displayed on branch library's New book shelves. Perhaps it was a Staff Pick. I had an idea it was a teen novel, but checked it out anyway.

The story is about 7th grader, Maleeka. Her mother is very kind "even arguing politics with wino's on the corner." Wino does not equate homelessness, yet the implication is there. Homeless people I knew did discuss politics, especially local ones. A man who claimed to be a Vietnam war veteran often talked about government conspiracy's ~ claiming he had inside (the military) info, yet it was typical conspiracy stuff, like about Roswell.

Note, just because they call it a conspiracy theory does not mean it is not true ~ or however that quote goes.

Maleeka thinks a classmate "...seems crazy sometimes", because he goes with his father to feed the homeless and volunteers at senior citizen homes on weekends.

Hollywood Forever

2011-08-24T13:11:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of homeless characters in Hollywood Forever written by Susan Goldstein. The lead character, Samantha, gives them names. There is Dancing Man, Button Lady, Plant Man and a panhandler with ends cut off of his sneakers so he can wiggle his toes. The panhandler asks passerby's if they can loan him $1.83. That reminded me of Tom explaining that he asked for exact amounts, such as $1.83, because most often, people would hand him a full amount, such as $2.00.

I think men write better mystery stories than women. Goldstein is an exception. Excellent novel, fast paced, interesting, little tidbits of wisdom sprinkled throughout. One of the characters ran scams conning people out of money which he than donated to the poor and homeless. Homeless men from a mission were paid to be movie extras. True to life. Or street life here in Long Beach.

Someone wrote in the margin of this newly acquired library book. "eeeH no such word" The word was circled: irregardless. I wonder if the person who defaced the library book read the paragraph. Samantha wondered about her usage of irregardless and looked it up in the dictionary. If the defacer thought that was fiction maybe she (or he) needed to check their own dictionary. There is indeed such a word.

Weird coincidence: I had been thinking about the word irregardless while watering my morning glory plants a day or two before reading this story. Homeless friend, Bear, had fits if anyone said "irregardless". My mother used to say it, which is why I would use it rather than saying regardless.

York's Moon

2011-08-23T13:26:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth Engstrom's York's Moon is a 232 page in-depth look at a hobo camp and it's residents. Real-life fiction; great read and characterization.

No One In The World

2011-08-14T14:12:00.000-07:00

In No One In The World by E. Lynn Harris and R M Johnson, a man learns he was adopted as a child and his twin brother was not. He sets about to find his twin. His sister is aghast: "What if he's crazy or worse? What if he's poor?" she asks. Then continues, "What do you think it would look like for you to have a homeless brother living on the streets?"

The man replies "Who said he was homless?" suggesting his twin may have grown up to become as much as a success in life as he and his sister had.

Later in the story when a man gets booted from his girlfriend's apartment, the man hands him a check for ten thousand dollars. The guy protests, not wanting to take it and the man says "You said you were homeless. You're going to need the money to get a place." I think many homeless people would love to have someone hand them a check like that!

No One In The World was a good read except that the authors named characters with similar names which was very confusing. Since Harris co-authored the book with Johnson, prior to his death not sure who choose names or if Johnson did any editing. Example would be to have an Austen and Austin, Hadley and Hedlay. There was even a Mosley and Harris in the tale.

Fortunate Son

2011-08-13T14:00:00.000-07:00

There is a homeless character in Walter Mosley's novel, Fortunate Son. The young man pushes a shopping cart along the streets of Los Angeles, collecting treasures ~ discarded books, brightly colored sones, bits of glass or pieces of broken costume jewelry and odd-shaped twigs or branches. Long before I lived on the streets, I did that too, albiet without a cart.

On the streets I often saw a woman that never spoke to me that kept her cart filled with similar objects. To a lesser extent, I still piciked up stuff while living on the streets. Could not bring an interesting piece of driftwood home for decorating purposes when one has no home. I was not a shopping cart pusher ~ everything owned was on my back, weight of backpack a constant concern.

The book's character thought: "He forgot so many things in his days on the street...", reminding me of how I had the same problem, losing memories of large blocks of times as if hours, days, weeks had not passed me by. "...but he wanted to remember the kindness." Me too. He recorded each act of generosity and caring given him by the homed, in a notebook he found in the trash so that he would not forget them. Me too.

Mosley often includes homeless people in his novels. I wonder if he conversed with any street people, or just imagines how it is not to have a home to go home to.

See Next Post

2011-08-12T11:35:00.000-07:00

May have been two posts back when I wrote "see next post". I pre-schedule posts and am writing Friday morning, the fifth of August, 2011.

It was April 2010 when I had enough of sitting in the dark playing Peggleland. The flickering lights problem made it impossible to read and nothing else to do after dark waiting upon time to go to bed. Those over-bright security lights are no longer put on at night, or if Mike does turn them on, they are quite dim. Have not noticed the lights flickering in recent memory. I also had it with a man trying to pick me up at one of the closest library branches, and snotty librarian at the other.

WiFi dead, I decided to splurge and get Internet at home. I justified the $19.99 fee thinking I could earn it by resuming writing for Associated Content. And Helium. Make the effort again to advertise both and My Zazzle. Should be easy to earn $20.00 a month, that was a bit higher due to having to rent rotor and taxes. I justified keeping cable the first time they raised the price, because if I went to nearby place and spent a dollar for an hour often enough or took bus downtown, I would be spending it anyway.

Could not force self to do Helium, ignored my last remaining website, and Zazzle due to changes that made it hard for me to create with my available computer components.

I went to the Recycle reuse place intending to interview owner for an article, then off to a Peace on the Streets rally; took cell phone photos and notes. Home sat down to write. Could not concentrate with my floor vibrating and LOUD thumping from apartment across street or vehicle parked out front. Wrote about it. Those "drug dealers" got evicted.

I put in earphones, went to play Cafe World on Facebook. An addiction is borne. I had phone in hand to call cops, thinking, yeah as soon as I make the call the music will stop and...

...how much longer? I may have finally called cops and the ear-splitting sound that passes as music stopped. Back to writing my two articles for AC. Not happening. John arrived home ~ this was before my complaint to the manager and his 8AM Sunday morning Karokee in the kitchen stopped ~ club level volume of his music. Back to Cafe World. That may have been the night ~ morning actually my brother asked me if I was up early or still up. Still up at 3AM...

...I never got those articles written; did make a stab at writing others, but then Yahoo bought AC and I had to have a Yahoo ID. I ditched Yahoo a long time ago; did not like the changes they made to their e-mail. I did write one or two articles. Lost enthusiasm before I began due to the changes. I could no longer just publish whatever for no pay. Everything has to be reviewed. They do not want to pay for Special Assignments, so I am not interested in doing the research on spec ~ page view bonus only.

Well now cable has increased the price yet again and I can no longer justify spending money to have Internet at home. I tell myself I will do better, write, write, write, promote and so on. Know if I have not done it in the past year will not. So it is bye, bye Internet and hello sadness. I am already in mourning. My connection with the world outside my rooms is gone.

No more checking temperature online. No instantly looking up words or translations. No checking for better news coverage than afforded by local newspapers. Really sad. Remind self of all my homeless days; how I did without everything normal people take for granted, so it is no big deal. I enjoyed the past year, even if I wasted the opportunity to maybe earn some spare change.

Will likely keep blogging from library as I used to do. Whatever.

Just one more thing...

2011-08-11T10:58:00.000-07:00

My blog posts tend to be mini-articles, not the quick reads they are intended to be. Maybe I could skip the background info, eh. Um, what was the just one more thing I wanted to say on the subject of Toward You and When The Thrill Is Gone? Oh, I remember..

Was the thing in Readers Digest "Thoughts To Ponder"? Walter Mosley throws a lot of them into his novels. On page three of When The Thrill Is Gone he writes: "Rising to my feet was an act of faith. I had the feeling of being the last man left standing after a lifelong battle in a meaningless war." May not be a thought to ponder, but instantly related to that feeling his character was having. In a vague way it reminds me of rising after fitfully sleeping on cold concrete many mornings, especially so in 2006.

It is the kind of quote I would copy, adding to my collection of quotes. A pondering thought was ~ is gone. Either the scrape of paper used to bookmark the page fell out or the scrape of paper where I distinctly remember scribbling it down disappeared. Um...

It was the same concept found in a Toward You passage: "...you may be at the top of your personal carriage wheel, as far from the mud and stones and filth of the roadbed as it's possible to get, in just a little while that wheel will turn again...", " and you will be back at the bottom." ~ the wheel turns and you end up right back where you started. Metaphor of my life, though I described it as climbing a mountain, just about to reach the summit, slipped back down to the bottom to begin the climb anew.

Each time the climb back up became a bit harder, due to aging, lack of vigor or incentive.

Both novels used analogies to describe fate. Mosley's it was feeling as if the character was a bullet shot from a gun to destination in the distance. In Krusoe's it was being the arrow shot from a bow, speeding to life's fore-drawn conclusion. Shades of Kahlil Gibran.

When The Thrill Is Gone Toward You

2011-08-10T10:22:00.000-07:00

Read two books: When The Thrill Is Gone by Walter Mosley and Toward You by Jim Krusoe.

Having lived in both Los Angeles and New York city, Mosley is well aware of homeless citizens and almost always throws one, often more) into his novels. When The Thrill Is Gone is the third in his new detective mystery series starring Leonid McGill. My book review of Known To Evil will tell you more about the detective's trials and tribulations. Even if you are not interested, I could use page views, thank you very much.

In When The Thrill Is Gone a homeless man goes berserk hitting a woman on the back of her neck with a rock killing her. The guy quickly disappears in the crowd of walkers and is never found. The dead woman was the second wife of a very rich man to die causing his third wife, thus McGill to think the homeless guy was hired to kill wife number two. It is mentioned that a woman character lived in shelters or was often homeless.

Will not be writing a book review on this one due to it being my last day of at home Internet service. See next post.

A mother tells her daughter that they may have to live in a homeless shelter in Toward You. The short novel had a good start, drew me in and kept me reading. Mid-way my interest in the story began to fade. I was in a hurry to get to the end to find out if the Communicator worked, if the unlikely hero would reunite with an old flame and so on. In a hurry to get past the middle, wondering when I would be reading about the interesting conversations picked up from the Great Beyond.

Toward You has a quote posted prior to story as many novels do. The gist is that someone, even as I type, is hurling towards you, with an important message. Call it fate, that two unlikely people will meet someday changing the course of one of their lives. I, of course, like to believe in that kind of mystical stuff, so the book promised to be a great read. It had an almost comic tone to it, though presented as a serious novel.

I wanted to toss the book across the room when I got to the end. The word "cliffhanger" comes to mind, but to best of my knowledge there will be no sequel to Toward You.

Perhaps this needs one of those spoiler alert warnings right here. I have been reading about the craft of writing ever since daughter Dawn won a New Jersey state writing competition. A subscription to a writers' magazine was part of her prize. Maybe she was 2nd or 3rd place, no longer remember. A basic thing learned that be it college term paper, news article or novel, the author's job is to pose a question at the start and answer it at the end.

Everything in between is to lead the reader through reasoning or proof of the conclusion. Something like that. It may not be a question. Could be a conflict or problem is solved by end of reading whatever it is one reads. Can not say I ever imagined the star hanging on to the edge of cliff by fingertips at the end of story, be it TV series, movie or book. That is how Toward You ended. No answers. Not even sure what happened. Some of it a reader can guess at, such as the identity of fire-setter called The Park Ranger by local press.

And the reader could be wrong, just as likely the lonely cop is the psycho. The reader is left to write their own ending to the tale. If only the ending had been clearer as to what happened to the main character. I could write a book review on this one, but it would be one star and discouraging anyone from reading it.

Just one more thing...

make that change

2011-08-09T21:52:00.000-07:00

Little did I know when I first saw this video many moons ago that someday I would be living in "L.A." actually seeing homeless people shuffling along streets pushing shopping carts. Nor that one day I would be calling the streets home myself.

The song inspired me to make that change. Not that I remember what changes I made in relation to making the world a better place.

Saw Jennifer

2011-08-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

May or may not have remembered to make note of seeing Jennifer the last time I was at downtown library. Saw her again last week. I dropped off some junk at the recycle/reuse shop on Elm Avenue. Got something to eat at Albertsons. What? Do not recall; potato salad? Chicken leg/thigh? Coffee from 7/11. Intention was to go hang out at Shoreline Park by the lighthouse. Foot/leg pain I was walking fast when Jennifer spotted me.

We chatted for a while. Too long. I kept leaning on something, a trash can or sign post. She looked 100% better than the day I saw her at library. That homeless look less evident. Hard to follow her stories. Think she is mostly staying indoors with friends right now. Someone had a stroke, the female of the couple, then "The Village dropped her..." as they transported her from building to ambulance. The man is used to her doing everything for him, so Jennifer's assistance was requested to look after him. The woman, Carla, I think she said, bed ridden needs care as well.

Jennifer said the guy just uses her, squanders his money than expects her to rescue him, provide dinner and so on. I see another side of that issue having had issues with her when I lived on Magnolia Avenue.

It is a horror to me, when street friends ask if I have a place. I anticipate the next question will be: can I come over? I did allow Jennifer to stay over night with me on Magnolia a few times with disastrous results. Was glad to know that Al D has a lady friend. He never made a pass at me, but still do not trust men at all. Jim used to invite me to motels to party when we were both on the streets. He never seemed to get that I did not use drugs. He never made a pass either, but even then I did not trust him enough to take advantage of a few days respite from the streets by accepting his offer.

Chicken Hawk

2011-08-07T10:46:00.000-07:00

August second my planned afternoon at the beach got rained out. Actually it did not rain at all. First mistake was forgetting that downtown Main library branch opened at 10AM. My mind was stuck on noon, so I messed around with Facebook games in the morning ~ so hot wished I was at beach. Heard on radio that it was 82 in Long Beach. Checked this blog and yes indeed it was 82 fairly early in the morning.

Sun was scorching hot. I put beach towel in library canvas tote rather than use the back pack. Drink, skin lotion, sesame seeds snack included. Checked out a few too many books. Weighing them in hand as I selected thought "too heavy" ~ for a long walk home along the ocean.

When I left library the air was chilled, sky mostly covered with clouds, some grayish edges. Foot went numb in library so I walked around to sit on wall facing City Hall. Noticing an ant crawling by my thigh, I thought back to the days I did the homeless thing and laid down on the wall, backpack pillow, warmth to take chill off, maybe even dozing for a minute or two. Did not the ants bother me. Probably. Do not remember that being an issue.

Sitting massaging the foot, checked bus schedule. Could I beat the 10th Street bus to Pacific Ave? Nah, it had a two minute head start leaving transit mall. Okay 7th Street bus it is. Can not even call it a drizzle, just seemed like it was about to rain or sprinkle quite soon. Headed back towards library entrance and Pacific Ave. to get to Transit Mall. Man was conversing with women ten or so feet away from him. Thought I knew him, but a glance as I passed decided he just looked like the guy. Took me almost 24 hours to remember his name.

After traffic light changed, crossing Pacific Ave. the man is crossing too. Yes it was him, Jim, aka: Chicken Hawk. Truly wish my F-drive would read the discs where I moved this blog and my homeless story. I had a people list, but think I started deleting the names after I was sure I wrote about them and my memories. Would have been much better to just leave it all here, then could link to the story about Jim. Or stories.

He too is off the streets living on the other side of PCH. Said the MSC (Multi Service Center) has a program, pay 2/3's of his rent for a year. He starts paying all his $750. a month rent in November. I can not imagine him getting more Social Security disability than I do. He is younger, maybe 20 years younger and I do believe I put in a lot more years working than he did. 2/3's of my income go to pay my rent which is a hundred dollars less than his. Wonder if he will some day be back on the streets.

Saw Al D

2011-08-06T10:29:00.000-07:00

No destination in mind, sort of headed towards Bixby Park and the beach the other day. Think maybe the heavy back pack contributes to leg/foot pain; did not want to bother with the towel, skin sun protection lotion, cold drink, so just started walking ~ a route I would not generally take.

Man crossing street heading in my direction had head bent, longish white hair blowing over his face, stooped over baby carriage as baggage cart he was pushing shouted: Homeless to me. It was not until he was close to passing me that I was sure. "Al?" I said. Or asked.

He recognized me, likely forgot my name. See side bar under You Tube for video of Al D, made just after I left the streets in September 2004. Or was that '5? 2005, must be if my first time on the streets started in August 2004.

He has been off the streets for a long time, he said, with same lady for four years. I said I thought he may have headed back to Allentown (to be closer to his kids). He said he talks to them weekly. We did not chat long. He had to finish his route, if he wanted to eat dinner. COA has dinner on week nights. Far, though, think he said he lives on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway).

He told me his daily route, did not catch it "to Termino, to Ocean Blvd. to Redondo, back on blah, blah, blah." The route to pick up plastic bottles and aluminum cans I imagine. Wonder where he takes them to earn his recycling cash. The place I used to go to on PCH closed.

He did not know of any deaths of homeless people we knew that I was unaware of. He said Mitzy is back on the streets, feisty as ever. I mentioned her a while back after seeing interview in local paper which included her. She was on her last legs, in nursing home or whatever the place is called where terminally ill homeless people are sent to live out their last days. Guess her liver damage was not as bad as article stated or a bout of enforced sobriety gave her a second wind.

Palm Blossoms on Tree

2011-08-05T10:14:00.000-07:00

This is the royalty free image of palm blossoms on a tree. The ones growing along sidewalk on next block are much whiter, as are the things growing atop a neighborhood very tall palm. Image and title link to site offering free use of this image. Yes, Blogger server rejected the other one I saved to my laptop due to the larger size.

So Pretty

2011-08-04T10:09:00.000-07:00

In spite of the gardener or whoever whacking the foliage along fence, morning glories have been blooming. Today there are six flowers. Other days, three, four or five. Moved sofa bed so it faces the windows. Can not see most of the flowers while sitting. But it is so pretty when walking from bathroom, around couch to sit again or go into kitchen, seeing those delicate purple flowers in full bloom.

Palm Blossoms

2011-08-03T10:03:00.000-07:00

View from back door includes a large palm tree with branches of something white growing on top. Walking to Ralph's I noticed a short palm tree that had something similar. They looked fluffy, so I ran my hand over the blooms, as I do when passing those long skinny fluffy white things whose name I could not locate doing a web search.

The palm blossoms came off in my hand. Not fluffy at all, more waxy. On way home from Ralph's, I decided to grab a few to examine more closely at home. They are indeed blossoms. Found a royalty free image on the web that shows them on a palm tree. The server rejected that image. Maybe it was too large. Will try again and add to a new post if successful.

Rowing Contest

2011-08-02T11:11:00.000-07:00

Press Telegram online does not have story posted yet about dragon head boats. This Long Beach Post article shows images from 2010 contest.

http://www.lbpost.com/news/allison/12072

Random Thoughts

2011-08-01T09:55:00.000-07:00

Random thoughts pop into my mind at any ole time. This morning's thought was: "Well, it seems pretty straight forward to me." Said to me by case worker after I asked for help filling out papers. There was a time I had no issues filling out paper work.

Long ago a CPA from NYC insisted on doing my federal income tax return for me. I was embarrassed to hand over my personal finance records to a client. Pretending to be a professional, successful real estate salesperson, now he would know. After he spent part of his vacation home weekend in the Poconos, he returned the stuff telling me: "You were right; just use the short form."

Well, I knew I was right. I had already tried the long form. But when one is not earning a lot, one does not donate enough to charitable organizations to earn a deduction. The same is true of health care costs. I did all that pro-rating rent and stuff to use my one bedroom apartment as office deduction; added up all clothing, travel expenses and such ~ same things he probably did ~ to come to the same conclusion: no tax break for me that year.

I filled out people's short form income tax papers ~ amazed that anyone had trouble with the simple paper work ~ they usually wanted to pay me ~ they would have had to pay HR Block, they said. I declined; told them about the end of that Kung Fu show ~ promise to do three good deeds, asking the recipients to do likewise, and I have been repaid for my favor. Rather like: keep the helping thy neighbor ball rolling down the river...(oops song lyric jumped in there)

I was A+ student in bookkeeping I and II in high school. Filling out forms, paper work comes naturally to me. So, if I asked a case worker for help, than I surely needed help. The attitude I got when I swallowed pride to ask for help surely was the reason I declined filling out the forms to apply for reduced rent program. I think of the crack addict/alcoholic that is happily paying less for a nicer apartment than myself ~ because what ever help he asked for from the workers, he got.

I also think of Dupree. Do not know that he gets reduced rent or what type of help he was given. He (and my case worker) simply decided to withhold that info from me. Had he (they) been adults and told me the truth, I could have made other choices at that time. I might be in that apartment on 4th and Orange, gotten skates, on the way to a healthier lifestyle.

C'est la vie.

Poof

2011-07-31T09:55:00.000-07:00

Another random thought was: "Poof, now you have your degree."

Said to me by job Councillor. Real nice of him to help me solve a problem and be on my way to improved life conditions. Irks me, at times, reading blog posts by newly homeless people who get into the system, get help and are off the streets almost as quickly as they arrived on them. It is rather my old Rodney Dangerfield moments: no respect.

Sheer stupidity is another random memory that haunts me now and then. Yes, I said that to the same man. He said something like: at least you admit it, most do not. Most being homeless individuals. I tend to forget that those last bad choices I made were made while I was under the influence of PTSD symptoms that I did not know I had at the time. Given better health care in 1998...

...who knows? That is life; never know if a different road would have lead to better or worse outcomes.

Dragon head boats

2011-07-30T09:31:00.000-07:00

Clearly one of those times I needed to take a close up of a dragon head on one of these boats. I wanted to be sure to get the drum, could not frame a long shot of an entire boat; thought the tail end of boats would show via this view. I forgot to check to see what the event was that involved the boats. Lots of tents being set up along the beach. These boats are the kind with teams lined up rowing them. Likely a race that I missed seeing.