Personalities of the South

 Walking the dogs today I saw a densely printed piece of paper on the ground with something handwritten in purple marker atop it. It looked like maybe a Bible page. 

When I picked it up, I saw Personalities of the South on both sides of the page. It was an encyclopedia of southern notable people from decades ago. Dysart, Elwin Leroy. Born April 7th, 1912. Seabee. Guadalcanal and Adak Island; President of Texas Co of Agricultural Agents 1968.

The purple writing was indecipherable to me. 

This is common here, finding pieces of paper with cryptic messages. One I still keep reads "See me outside. Say nothing"

I've found letters from prison, letters to prison. Eviction notices. Shutoff notices. Medical records. Bills. Bills. Bills. 

Later this morning I cleaned up the sleeping bag and clothes from our lot down the street. There's a man working across the street from the lot who told me I could use their dumpster. After dragging the sleeping bag full of clothes to the dumpster, I went to the nearby corner and picked up several ruined tents and a shopping cart and also dumped them. As I was heaving the shopping cart up and over the open top of the dumpster, various toiletries rained down on me.

This afternoon I saw someone walking around in the open backyard of the empty house across the street. When she saw me, she busied herself with the contents of a trashcan in front of her.

"I'm sorry, you have to go," I told her.

"Okay," she said. "I just have to get my kitten."

On the grass behind her was a small black and white kitten in a big cage.

She loaded the cage containing the kitten into a gray plastic shopping cart. 

"Why aren't you in the shelter," I asked. 

"They told me it's full," she answered. 

I gave her a bottle of water and a piece of chocolate.

After I closed the gate, a voice called my name from the other side of the fence. 

"Mister James! Can I talk to you for a second?"

It was an older guy wearing a fluorescent yellow workshirt. I didn't know if he was homeless or what. I opened the gate and stepped out. 

His name was Rick, he told me. He had a small ministry, and wanted to know if he could feed the homeless next week from the corner of our property down the street. Feeding the homeless from our corner down the street wasn't unusual, but asking if we were okay with it was. Usually people just consulted the community agency across the street from our lot. 

I was fine with it. There are probably at least four different churches who come down here to feed the homeless weekly or monthly. There are also individuals who come down here from time to time with food, tents, toiletries, or clothes. There are also other groups who do similar things elsewhere around downtown. My wife and I had participated in one group downtown for a couple of years, but had fallen off in recent months. 

It would be nice, I think, if these groups would unite and ask the city to devote some resources to the problem of homelessness here. When I ask them, some don't appear to know anything about the other groups. The individuals usually aren't interested.

Rick said something that indicated he had worked offshore. I asked him about that. He told me God had been watching over him for a long time. The time when he had tucked a knife up his sleeve, ready to fight at school. The time he had cut a line offshore and it had whipped back but missed him. 

"I was watching over you then, wasn't I," God had told him. "So now pick up your cross and follow me."