Happy Thanksgiving. This morning I set off early to walk to St Gregory's, about an hour away. The house was quiet as I left around 7.30. Outside I was hit by sunshine and cool air, beautiful. I love the early morning walks, they remind me of holidays in Turkey, cheap holidays out of season when it's warm but not hot, and the sun warms the day up without sweating. I walked down Washington Street, it's a steep hill and I was hoping it would get the stiffness out of my legs. After only a hundred metres I came to a man who was waking up to his Thanksgiving morning, lying on the sidewalk with a bag for a pillow. I walked past and then stopped, turned back and looked for a moment. He stirred his head and opened his eyes for a moment. I wanted to see who he was, was he old or young, black or white. His hair was greying, not too long, his eyes were deep brown. His skin was coloured, reddish brown, healthy but old. I wanted to stoop down and wish him a Happy Thanksgiving but sensibleness told me not to. So in silence I wished him a Thanksgiving Blessing and crossed his head. I don't know if this counts, it feels as though it doesn't, but it's what I did anyway.
I walked on along Clyde, past the back of City Hall towards the Tenderloin. The roads and the sidewalks were wet. I think someone tries to wash off the mess first thing in the morning. I passed a newspaper kiosk, a young black kid inside was spending her Thanksgiving morning on her smartphone. It appears that the New York Times does not recognise public holidays as being public, and neither do many other businesses. I saw cleaners working, bus drivers and shop workers. But the banks were closed. There are not as many bodies lying around the Tenderloin in the morning, most people are on their feet, standing in groups or leaning on lampposts, watching and waiting. I see two young white adults walking along the sidewalk with a big cardboard box. They stand out a) because they are white, and b) because they have a box with something in it - rather than carrying it folded up, for bedding. I can see that they are giving out sandwiches, probably turkey sandwiches - to anyone on the street. I don't get one because I am not stationary. The couple are smiling, it's good for them. Now everyone I pass has a Turkey sandwich. Next I see what looks like a patrol of people with carrier bags, there's something going on here my mind tells. me. As I get closer I can see that the bags have food in them, and each person is carrying several bags. Serving the poor is like a business here, like everything else in America.
As I walk past McAllister, one of the worst streets in the neighbourhood, I see an elderly man walking towards me talking - and he's looking straight at me, so I slow down to listen, I don't stop at this point mind. He is staggering a little, looking around. He is dishevelled. He's saying 'they've taken my stick. they've taken my stick'. I stop, all I can say is I'm sorry. He doesn't stop, he just wants me and everyone else to know that they have taken his stick. I start to walk on, learning not to disbelieve or to believe - but to 'hear'. His stick is gone, and he needs it. Maybe a white stick, who would take a white stick, someone else who needs a white stick that's who. A white stick could be valuable property in this city. A means to a living. If he doesn't need it to see then he needs it to live. I am saddened by what I see, an old man upset because someone has taken his stick on Thanksgiving.
Now I've moved on and I'm sat in a park, the sun is warm and it's quiet. I can see a father teaching his son how to play tennis in the tennis courts. Mums and Dads playing ball games with their kids. I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving meal : )
I walked on along Clyde, past the back of City Hall towards the Tenderloin. The roads and the sidewalks were wet. I think someone tries to wash off the mess first thing in the morning. I passed a newspaper kiosk, a young black kid inside was spending her Thanksgiving morning on her smartphone. It appears that the New York Times does not recognise public holidays as being public, and neither do many other businesses. I saw cleaners working, bus drivers and shop workers. But the banks were closed. There are not as many bodies lying around the Tenderloin in the morning, most people are on their feet, standing in groups or leaning on lampposts, watching and waiting. I see two young white adults walking along the sidewalk with a big cardboard box. They stand out a) because they are white, and b) because they have a box with something in it - rather than carrying it folded up, for bedding. I can see that they are giving out sandwiches, probably turkey sandwiches - to anyone on the street. I don't get one because I am not stationary. The couple are smiling, it's good for them. Now everyone I pass has a Turkey sandwich. Next I see what looks like a patrol of people with carrier bags, there's something going on here my mind tells. me. As I get closer I can see that the bags have food in them, and each person is carrying several bags. Serving the poor is like a business here, like everything else in America.
As I walk past McAllister, one of the worst streets in the neighbourhood, I see an elderly man walking towards me talking - and he's looking straight at me, so I slow down to listen, I don't stop at this point mind. He is staggering a little, looking around. He is dishevelled. He's saying 'they've taken my stick. they've taken my stick'. I stop, all I can say is I'm sorry. He doesn't stop, he just wants me and everyone else to know that they have taken his stick. I start to walk on, learning not to disbelieve or to believe - but to 'hear'. His stick is gone, and he needs it. Maybe a white stick, who would take a white stick, someone else who needs a white stick that's who. A white stick could be valuable property in this city. A means to a living. If he doesn't need it to see then he needs it to live. I am saddened by what I see, an old man upset because someone has taken his stick on Thanksgiving.
Now I've moved on and I'm sat in a park, the sun is warm and it's quiet. I can see a father teaching his son how to play tennis in the tennis courts. Mums and Dads playing ball games with their kids. I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving meal : )