Before all this nonsense began, I found myself downtown on a mildly chilly Saturday afternoon, at a benefit for a local musician whose medical bills were threatening to force him into bankruptcy. Late in the day, standing outside on the sidewalk, I noticed dozens and dozens of ragged people beginning to congregate in the vacant parking lot and cluster around the donated picnic tables. They came in ones and twos, on crutches and in wheelchairs and walkers, carrying bundles and paper sacks, milling about aimlessly. They were black and white, young and old, cheerful and downhearted, wearing or carrying everything they owned. Two white vans pulled up and double parked, dislodging volunteers from Catholic Charities - a handful of young people began unloading plastic containers of food and coffee urns, paper plates and plastic cups. They worked quickly and efficiently in the late afternoon light and soon the tables were filled with crock pots of red beans and rice, gumbo, loaves of bread, green vegetables and sweet rolls. The homeless formed a crooked line and waited, joined hands and bowed heads for a brief prayer. Then each took a steaming plate and found a place to sit. There were a lot of smiles and good natured conversations and second helpings - each came with a blessing and a few encouraging words, an empathetic but by no means pitying hug. It was an enduring memory, this stark collection of opposing images - happy yet sad, upbeat yet tragic, cold but heart warming. Remembering it made me feel ashamed to have complained so mightily about a lack of money and a short lived lack of heat.
How foolish we can be not to see fortune when it's all around us.
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