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Tiny Homes for Everyone!

I’m a big fan of the ‘Tiny home” movement. I lived in 600 sq ft homes (or less) from 2007 until 2014. There is something wonderful about minimalism and small spaces.

Many people are downsizing as the economy falters or the gap between wealthy and lower-income families widens. Some choose it as a way to avoid crushing debt or to save money in order to pay off student loans while still having a space to call their own.

One innovative approach to the homeless veteran population is to create tiny home communities that offer not only housing but addiction support and access to social services and mental health care. This kind of solution could work for populations of all kinds; immigrants/asylum seekers, foster youth that are aging out, young mothers, even homeless families. We know that housing-first solutions can prevent the slide into substance abuse and create the opportunity for stability that everyone needs in order to be successful at holding a job and home on their own again. I hope you’ll look more into this and support the work that is being done. Maybe you could support the project creating a community like this in your area?

The project website is here: https://www.veteranscommunityproject.org/https://www.veteranscommunityproject.org/

A great article about what they are doing is here: https://www.nbcnews.com/nightly-news/former-politician-jason-kander-pushes-make-mental-health-services-available-n1027951

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Breakfast (It’s the little things)

One of the many ways I work to heal the trauma from my childhood is through providing for my children what my brothers and I did not have.

Today is a Sunday and with everyone home, my husband and I made a big breakfast. As we sat around the table with our children, passing pancakes and sausages, orange slices, and yogurt, I felt the weight of grief that bubbles up sometimes. It begins with a lump in my throat and a sob that lingers in my chest, stubbornly refusing to move.


The grief is obviously connected to years of hunger and food insecurity, but it’s more than that.

I carry around, in my heart, the image of the little girl I was. She is thin, with short hair and clothes that are too big or too small and totally out of fashion.

The hardest part of carrying her around is not her sadness, but the look on her face. In these visions, at these moments when the grief bubbles up, I see her looking not sad but confused. Confused about why she can see a world that is full of food and other riches, but she has to go hungry.

She can see a world full of people that experience joy and love every day, yet she is alone and scared of the people that are closest to her. She just doesn’t understand and I have never found the words to explain it to her.

The best I can do is to ensure that it stops with me.

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Reflection on Courage

Age has granted me the clarity needed to understand something that has plagued my understanding since I was very young. Even as a six-year-old I remember watching people hurt, and watching those hurt people turn away and push away those people they longed to be close to.

I understood, as a teenager, that the reason for this was primarily fear of rejection. Never short on hubris or words I have attempted many times, with varying degrees of success, to open their eyes to the fact that they hold the power to end their own pain, and the pain of others, by reaching out to them. By turning toward people and sharing their fears and passions we create connections that heal old wounds and repair burnt bridges. I explain, fruitlessly, that by sharing our fears and passions we open the door to others to do the same, bolstering them by our courage.

What age has finally granted me is the knowledge that reaching out to others when one is afraid requires a profound amount of courage that most people cannot summon. And, that when a person (of any age) can and does summon the courage, one must act to recognize it for the bravery it is, no matter the outcome.

Vulnerability is so courageous when it comes from someone who has been hurt. We have all been hurt.

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Slide

Gravel slips away below me, down the steep incline. It reminds me of the sound of a rain stick; a gentle rush that belies the danger.

“Shit.”

I freeze. Every muscle tenses. I flatten my belly against the shifting stone, spread my limbs out like a starfish, digging my hands and feet into the shifting surface. Carefully, I tilt my head. The distance I have come is too great to warrant retreat. Nearly 200 yards to the ground on this pile and only around 30 feet to solid ground leading to the summit path. I know that turning and sliding with the rocks would be easy, even fun. I’m not done yet, though.

The gravel begins to slip again. I stop moving and flatten myself completely. I lay, hugging the earth with my wide arms. I giggle, take a breath and carefully move one limb at a time, digging each appendage into the stone and using the three anchors to halt any backward slide.

Slowly, I make progress toward solid ground and the path I seek. The first grasp of soil is like the edge of a swimming pool as I place both hands firmly on it and haul myself up. I sit on the edge and stare back down the slope of sliding stones, laughing at my own success.

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Refuge (Terry Tempest Williams)

Refuge by https://m.facebook.com/terry.t.williams.14

One of the first memoirs I read when trying to decide how to write my own story was written by another author from Utah; Terry Tempest Williams. It was a strange experience, reading her story. The locations and timelines of our tales were so very similar, but the relationship she shared (a loving and supportive one) with her mother was entirely foreign. So, too, was her deep connection with the birds.

Before delving into Refuge I had never known the names of any birds save the Parrot, Flamingo, and Robin. Reading her book reminded me of my bio-mother telling me about the myth of the robin’s redbreast being bestowed upon it by God after a robin tried to remove the thorns from Christ’s head. As a result of this wonderful story, I have endeavored to learn more about the creatures around me, care more for the Earth, and become a part of the world I live in.

Set against the backdrop of widespread flooding in the Salt Lake valley in the ’80s, Terry Tempest Williams tells of her love for wild birds and wild spaces in the valley and surrounding mountains. Her process of grieving the passing of her mother is also woven into the tale of flooding, mitigation, and how it all affects the birds. Though her story shares a time and place with mine, our stories are wildly different. I found it fascinating to read along as she navigated familiar terrain with such a divergent experience. Barely miles apart, she “midwifed” her mother’s passing as I strove to keep mine from suicide.

Definitely worth the read.  If you want to know more about the author, here is her website: http://www.coyoteclan.com

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Joining hands for Equality

When I was in elementary school we were marched from our classrooms and gathered in a field one morning. The whole school was told to hold hands. We were forming a school-wide circle of hand-holding in association with the “Hands Across America” project. In 1986, it was a fundraising project to shed light on issues of hunger and homelessness in the U.S. by stretching a human chain across the continent. Many people ended up forming very large circles in towns or schoolyards, like we did, in solidarity with the event.

Today, I was moved by the joint effort of millions of women banding together in the hope of achieving a similar goal of shedding light on issues of equality for women. This attempt was far more successful than it’s predecessor. I raise a glass to the power of collaborative movement!

https://www.upworthy.com/5-million-indian-women-just-made-a-385-mile-human-chain-for-equality?xrs=RebelMouse_fb&ts=1559348588&fbclid=IwAR1IeWCbnREmZN9TFPmofCZjLT4Wgcbde45H_5up6n99sARLAMxzGBq4Jlk

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Cathy Glass @CathyGlassUK

Cathy Glass Collection 8 Books Set Pack RRP: £81.76 (I Miss Mummy ...

One of my favorite authors right now is Cathy Glass. It’s a pseudonym because she is an active (and amazing) foster carer. Many of her books are based on her experience caring for some very traumatized children. She also has a new crime-drama series under the name of Lisa Stone that’s super fun.

I find it cathartic and healing to hear her perspective on the lives of the young people she cares for. I also really appreciate her view of the foster care system. She is not in the U.S. and part of the appeal is that the system where she is, though flawed, really strives to maintain the best interest of the child as the key tenet of their work.

She is here: https://www.facebook.com/cathy.glass.180/
At: https://cathyglass.co.uk
And on twitter: @cathyglassuk

All her books are available at Amazon, and in eBook format.

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Straight Talk about Homelessness

Homelessness has always been an issue. I lived in motels, sheds, and in other people’s living rooms or basements many times when I was young. I’m happy to have found this article discussing one approach to solving the issue. One of the solutions is a community-based comprehensive plan to create a net of services to prevent the homelessness cycle from beginning.

Creating Systems That Work
The National Alliance to end Homelessness
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An Evening of Paperwork

Two sets of heavy boots on the fence rail. Two wide bottoms seated on the bumper of the patrol car.

“Coroner’ll be here soon.”

“Yump” he nods, then spits in the dirt.

Patrolman’s thinking of the paperwork ahead with dread. Farmer’s wishing he was inside watching that show. Neither is much worried about the bones lying twenty feet yonder. Both are keenly aware that the sun is getting near to settin.’

Ain’t the way of things here; to wonder who, or how, or to look into the bones or bushes. The task here is to simply wait for others to come do their jobs. Headlights and a dust cloud bring them to their feet.


“You know where I’ll be?” Farmer calls, as he heads back into his house.

“Yes’sir.” Patrolman leans against his cruiser with his hand on his gear belt. His other hand reaches up and tips his hat off, bangs the dust out of it, and replaces it. The crew pulls up and piles out.


He signs their bits of paper and points them in the right direction and spits again.

“Harvester came over it this morning. I’ve been ever here since.” His words send them into a beehive of activity.

He pauses to muse over the existence of a person, now reduced to a spread of bones in a field.

The lives people led before demise is contrary and wrought. He heads for his car and an evening of paperwork.

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Kindness in Action

A Dallas man searches the streets for unsheltered people, hoping to drive them to shelters on the coldest nights.

He’s been cold, hungry, and sleeping rough himself. This article shares how he now does what he can to help keep some of the most vulnerable in our society alive when everyone else looks the other way. Or looks right through them.

Thank you, B.B. for seeing them as people, and for doing what you can to help them stay warm and alive.

Formerly Homeless Man Now Spends Coldest Nights Searching for People on the Street He Can Guide to Shelter