Michele 1 #1 December 2, 2002 I don't believe it, but here I am, Thanksgiving night, walking down Ventura Boulevard at 4 pm. The clouds are threatening rain; they have even tossed a few sprinkles onto my head, and I am nowhere near home. Nowhere near warmth and safety and security... I think about my cats, and about the bath I will luxuriate in once I make it back. I think about the music I'll put onto the stereo and the wine I will savor, opening a hoarded bottle, allowing myself a small treat to comfort me in the face of Thanksgiving unexpectedly alone. I walk on the sidewalk, wobbling in my heels. I don't like wearing heels - but it was for the party, you see, skirt and hose and heels. I was dressing up to celebrate, to enjoy myself. I didn't expect to be walking any distance in them. The right heel feels a little odd to me as I step down yet another curb, cross yet another street. Cars pass me, and the occupants don't see me. I am, to them, just someone on the street, walking. An obstacle to avoid. They are warm in their cars, and either coming from or going to a holiday home, rife with the scents of a holiday dinner, laughter tinkling through the rooms. I can't help but be jealous of them, because I am outside and they are not. Because they are riding and I am walking. Because soon, they will be with company, while I return to an empty house. I am invisible. Tears drip down my face, and I make no effort to stop them. My legs hurt a little bit, but I think again of home, and focus on getting there. I plan out my trip, knowing it will be blackdark by the time I get home; I choose my route carefully. I am trying to protect myself, now, because I feel so vulnerable. I take off my watch and ring, and slip them into my purse. There is someone behind me, so I sort of slide over and allow them room to pass. I deliberately slow down so they will have to pass me. I don't like having someone behind me... I sit on a low wall, and take off my shoes. I wiggle the right shoe's heel, and it is loose. Well, I guess it's time to walk barefoot, and so I slide my shoes into my purse, and set off again. It's getting dark and a light breeze has picked up, and I can smell the rain coming. I hope I beat the storm home, I think, but it might be interesting walking in the rain. No, it won't, but I am trying to find something positive. It will cool my hot hurting feet, walking through water. That's it. But it will ruin my jacket. Most stores are closed, and those that have remained open are empty, and the clerks are reading or watching television. Soon, I think, they will lock up and head home, too, and this city will be deserted. Then I see the denizens of the alleyways as I cross them, and they look at me. I do not belong here - but do they, either? I begin to think about who is sharing the street with me tonight - no, not those drivers in cars who don't see the people on the streets, but those people on the streets who see anyone who's out of place. I wonder what they will eat tonight - and I understand in a way I've not understood before that they have no promise of tomorrow. I have a place waiting for me. What, I wonder, is waiting for them? I will sleep in a bed tonight - safe from the cold and rain. Where will they sleep? Will it afford them any shelter? If I am cold, I can always turn on my heater. If they are cold, what will they do? As I trudge barefoot over asphalt, around broken glass and litter, through puddles and over pebbles, I think about Thanksgiving. This feast I am not attending seems almost obscene in a way...it's not about how much we can eat, I think, but that we have anything to eat at all. It's not about how much money we have, but about how well we treat others and treat ourselves. It's not about showing off how much we have, but about sharing what we have with those who may not have as much. As I walk through the gathering darkness and increasing cold, I feel like I am understanding Thanksgiving in a manner which I have never been aware of before. I think about Thanksgiving, and about what I can, right here and now, be thankful for. I thank God I have strong legs. I thank God that I have the self-confidence to remove myself from a situation which was not good for me. I thank God that I have work, intermittant as it may be. I thank God Kitty came through her surgery passably well, and that I still have lights on in my house. I thank God that I still have a house, and a car, and health, and some semblance of wellbeing. I realize that thanksgiving is daily, and not once yearly, and resolve to appreciate what I have, instead of always wanting more. For in the chase to acquire more, I think, I lose myself, and lose my way. It is full dark, now, and I am limping, walking crooked. I am cold, and tired, hungry and thirsty. I find a bus bench which has routes and fares posted, and I sit. I light up a cigarette, and exhale slowly, massaging my sore feet and calves. I empty my purse on my lap, thanking God that I had my regular purse with me, and hadn't changed it to match my outfit. For had I done that, I would not have found the dimes and nickles and quarters which made up the bus fare. I gather my coins, and consider walking the rest of the way, but I look at my feet - they are blistered, bloody, and raw. I haven't got too much of a choice I think... The bus comes, and I lift myself onto it, hauling myself up the handrails, easing the burden on my feet. I deposit my change in the box, and ask the bus driver how to get back to Burbank. I have to change buses, he tells me, and hands me a transfer. I fumble for the change, give it over, and sit down behind him. I haven't been on a bus in 20 years. They have changed a lot. As we ride down past familiar landmarks, I look into the street. It has started to rain, and lights are reflecting off the pavement. It is surreal, me on a bus on Thanksgiving. My fellow riders are chatting to each other, or reading the newspaper, or sleeping. I look at them, and I wonder where they're going to or coming from today - is it just another Thursday for them? Did they work today, or are they visiting someone tonight? I realize I have a distance, a separation, when I'm in my car that I do not have on this bus. We reach the end of the line, and I hobble across the street to the other bus stop where I'll catch my last bus home. Again contemplating my circumstances, I look around. It has stopped raining, and so, even though I know my bottom will get wet, I sit down on the bus bench. I watch a spider spinning it's web in the corner of the streetsign and the overhanging trees, and marvel at it's dexterity, it's facility to create home and hearth in the midst of a manmade jungle. It knows it's temporary, this spiderweb, but if it can feed the spider, it's served it's purpose. And I am certain that once this web is broken, through the increasing wind or an errant child's hand, the spider will set to work re-building, dismissing it's former home out of hand with the goal of creating it's future. I wonder, then, why I always look backwards, looking for what was, instead of what will be. The bus comes along, and I stand, legs trembling, shooting pains up my feet into my ankles. No matter, I will soon be home. It is short, this last leg of my journey, a matter of 10 minutes in the bus and two blocks' walk. I hand over my transfer, smoothing it out as I do so. It is wrinkled and sweaty, having been clutched in my hand as if it were the last transfer on earth, because there is no change to buy another should it be lost. I slide into the first seat available, and sigh. Home is a stone's throw now, I think, and close my eyes. My stop comes, and the driver lets me out, wishing me "Happy Holidays". I step onto the concrete, and can feel the blisters squishing in my feet, an odd and very painful sensation. I push the crosswalk button, and find myself very impatient. I whack on it a little, and while it makes me feel better, I am positive it hasn't hurried the lightchanging process any. I step onto the street, and have to walk so carefully and slowly that I do not make it across before the light turns yellow then red, and I apologetically wave at the cars waiting for me to get out of their way. I am embarrassed to have held up traffic like this... But home, home is close. I hurt so badly I distract myself by singing some old ballads I learned as a child, just to strike a pace so that I can keep moving. As I sing to myself and hobble homeward, I see a house with easily 20 people in the front room, all celebrating and smiling. They are having Thanksgiving dinner, surrounded by joy. The front door is open, and I hear the chatter and laughter - a child's voice sails out to my ears, silver in the night air, and I smile. I am home, and manage to get up the porch, and into the house. The cats get fed, the bath gets drawn, and the wine is poured. I put on some music - Eine Kline Nachtmusik it will be, and with the joy of Mozart careening off the walls, I slide into the tub. The long walk home is done with, and I am safe and warm. My feet are a mess, but I am home. And I have a lot to be thankful for, every day of the week, every week of the year. We all do. Ciels- Michele ~Do Angels keep the dreams we seek While our hearts lie bleeding?~ Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
suz 0 #2 December 2, 2002 Just beautiful. Don't bother me, I'm living happily ever after Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
CrazyThomas 0 #3 December 2, 2002 I was thankful to be alone this thanksgiving. I don't think we need a holiday to gather and be happy, but most of society works too hard and waits for a holiday to celebrate life. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and experience. Maybe the rest of us can learn. I learned that this summer, to be thankful every day. I did sleep outside, out in the streets, and mostly under bridges. Homeless people were my friends this summer, because we shared something in common. They had nowhere to go, and neither did I. And we were all happy together. being homeless isn't that bad. It does away with a lot of the bill problems. And worried of "What if my house gets robbed". I am now in my parents home out of convenience. I worked a job so I could get food and play money. Now I can buy Suz a shirt. I would rather give my money away then hoard it for myself. Really. Being a person who only cared about money made me realize one thing. I have only one friend: MONEY. So, I try to make money not an issue. Money cannot buy friendship. It's like buying sex, which is I believe is called prostitution. Not worth it. I would rather sleep (no sex) with someone I care for, than have sex with a stranger. my .02 Thomas Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
aneblett 0 #4 December 2, 2002 thanks... AgeS.E.X. party #2 ..It is far worse to live with fear, than to die confronting it. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
suz 0 #5 December 2, 2002 dude! Dont buy me a shirt, if you aint got the money. I dont want you to do that, that's silly. It's the thought that counts, and thank you very much, but that's crazy, I'm capable of finding another way to get the shirt, dude Don't bother me, I'm living happily ever after Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Snowbird 0 #6 December 2, 2002 You've done it again, Michele. Beautiful. How are those blisters healing up? Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea. -Robert A. Heinlein Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
ladyskydiver 0 #7 December 2, 2002 Michele, I must say that I absolutely love reading your posts. The way you write, you should be an author. Hope your feet are doing better.Life is short! Break the rules! Forgive quickly! Kiss slowly! Love truly, Laugh uncontrollably. And never regret anything that made you smile. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
hooked 0 #8 December 2, 2002 Michele, Once again you have us all 'glued' to your postJ -------------------------------------- Sometimes we're just being Humans.....But we're always Human Beings. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
jimmytavino 16 #9 December 2, 2002 "In the face of a Thanksgiving unexpectedly alone" you are never alone when you are a skydiver... and your thoughts and willingness to share them, validate my point.... ..Excellent narrative Michele. I could feel the shiver running down my back....both from the cold damp air which you described, and from the "lurker" who walked up past you from behind....... ( I too feel uneasy when that happens..)....I hope that your feet are doing better. .. rest assured that your head/mind...is in the RIGHT place....gratitude.... it certainly varies....from person to person... thanks for sharing.... Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
IronMike 0 #10 December 2, 2002 Let me try... I drank like 12 beers, ate some turkey, hit on some girls, passed out on a couch and hated the next day because my liver hurt...... Damn, I hate the eloquent, thankful, coherent and inspirational. Thanks Michele! Mike Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
SpeedRacer 1 #11 December 2, 2002 Quote I must say that I absolutely love reading your posts. The way you write, you should be an author. I agree completely! Quote Hope your feet are doing better. Yeah, and get yourself some shoes that fit better!! Speed Racer -------------------------------------------------- Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Muenkel 0 #12 December 2, 2002 Michele, you ignorant bitch!...j/k You moved me. Don't ever waste that gift you have. Keep writing, we'll keep reading. Chris _________________________________________ Chris Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
GiaKrembs 0 #13 December 2, 2002 Oh Michelle, I love reading your posts, however now is not the best time... I'm PMS'ing and I'm at work - oh boy do I look like a major cry baby sitting at my terminal. What beautiful insight - THANKS, g Raddest ho this side of Jersey #1 - rest in peace brother Beth lost her cherry and I missed it .... you want access to it, but you don't want to break it. Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Muenkel 0 #14 December 2, 2002 Quote Oh Michelle, I love reading your posts, however now is not the best time... I'm PMS'ing and I'm at work - oh boy do I look like a major cry baby sitting at my terminal. What beautiful insight - THANKS, g Now doesn't this belong in the Women's Only forum? _________________________________________ Chris Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Michele 1 #15 December 2, 2002 Quote Damn, I hate the eloquent, thankful, coherent and inspirational. HHHHHHHHHAhhaahahahahahahahaaa. You're still drunk, right? As to how my feet are, absolute agony friday (had to keep taking tylenol, and to sleep needed tylenol pm), saturday was a bit better, sunday was even better, and today I'm bopping around as per usual (although in tennis shoes)...not necessary to give a description of my feet, but I was at my brother's house on Saturday, and he insisted on seeing them....my 3 1/2 y/o nephew looked at them, and out of his mouth came "water, bandaids, peroo (his version of peroxide), and sauce (antibiotic ointment)". Me and my neice ended up sitting on the floor while the "boys" gave us treatment. Jonathan with his sister, me with my brother... The sauce thing still gets me giggling...I can't help but think of sauce as, well, Jack Daniels or something... Ciels- Michele ~Do Angels keep the dreams we seek While our hearts lie bleeding?~ Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
