Birthday Greetings from Myself to Myself...

Another Birthday, just another day...   

Yet another birthday spent on the streets, alone.  Just another day, another un-acknowledged presence.  Days repeating themselves, blending together where you can no longer tell where one ends and another begins.  Birthdays, holidays, or any day that holds any special meaning... really lets you know if people truly care or if their words were just that...   words.  Never having these days acknowledged, just dismissed and discarded and turned meaningless, unless you have that precious commodity called a home and are surrounded by people who actually care.   And this tells me that should I die, right here and now, no one would blink twice, much less give it a second thought.

When you are forced to live your life on the streets, all that evaporates...   your very presence, a permanent stain that society cannot wash out, not for the lack of trying, though.  Very brutally and harshly, at that.  Though the mark it leaves on your heart and soul can never be erased, starts to corrode the very essence of you.  Hope slips further away into the background as the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, then endless years tick by-- bringing you to the realization that your presence doesn't matter, has never mattered, and you are not likely to ever see or feel that so much sought after place of being in a H O M E.

September 1, 2013 marks my 13th year anniversary of being forced out onto the streets by and through the illegal actions of a crummy, despicable landlord.  The illusions of ever having a home has faded away...  I wonder why I keep pushing forward... to what end???   Since it has become quite apparent that this is where I'll spend the rest of my days--  merely existing, or rather languishing in obscurity until my existence is completely erased and extinguished out.  

I have never once experienced that love-affair of life that most do, it's never had that pull or draw to me.  Life has truly shown her dark side to me-- experiencing the worst of it.  Still waiting for the coin to flip, get a little glimpse of the other side, the top side.  I hear rumors that it exists ~

This will be my 14th Holiday Season out here.  Just remembering to breathe and wondering why I bother.  I knew life was going to pose some challenges, but to be so very disheartening and devastating every moment of it?  Being "monitored" by the cops, who in turn have set their sites on their target, ME.  Zeroed in on me, time and again.  Citing me just for being present.  Their constant harassment just for not having the luxury of a home.  Followed, like an endless nightmare that never lets go.  Making it that much more challenging to face another day, another night.   Just to face more of the same.

I often wonder what I was brought here to do, what my purpose is, or should have been.  There must be a reason I was put out here, and perhaps that was to be a value to others...   in whatever capacity that may be.  Though, I have no idea what that is.  Perhaps of my telling of my experience out here, they will be able to navigate the harsher waters of being homeless, helping them to wade through the muck and mire of it, knowing they are not the only ones to have gone through the challenges it poses, in all regards.  And be able to lead them through, somehow.  

A New Lease...

A New Lease on life....

Taking out a new lease on life-- had to, as my other lives have all been mortgaged off.  Walking away from something that should have killed me on impact, (yet again), and so much more I have come through in life, taking out more leases that I have lost count.  It's obviously not my time to go, have too much to share with others and the world, sharing my story, or rather my stories, as there have been many.  Even if they only help one other person, the journey will have been well worth the effort (of living through them and continuing to breathe), and make a difference to us both.  Perhaps that is my purpose here, in this life-- to share my journey, the experiences and multiple varied chapters.

A new chapter begins with that new lease as I begin the redecorating of my life...  redecorating every facet, changing the color schemes and wall papers of thought, discarding old, broken furniture.  Restoring the heart-values, the keep sakes that bring value to us and things we share with others-- the things that truly matter.  

At times, it's as though life itself is trying to destroy me, but I am not finished here.  The real journey has only just begun...

12 Years...

12 Years now....   

Today marks my 12th year anniversary of being homeless and having to live on the streets, in the truest sense,  and this will be my 13th holiday season coming up out here.  It doesn't get any easier, the longer you are out here, in fact, it gets much harder to face another day.  Remembering just to breathe and then wondering why I do.  This has been a very difficult year to endure on so many levels.  And yesterday I walked away from something that should have killed me when it happened.   Changed the course of everything.  It is obviously not my time to go, but wondering, time and again, why am I here?   To serve what purpose?  The questions keep piling up, yet the answers are nowhere in sight.  I have come through the worst life has to offer, and still keep coming back for more.  It's like I have become, or rather was already born, as the human waste depository and repository for all the bad crap.  You get more dumped on you, when your residence status has changed, than anything else.  How do you move forward when you have no place to go and no one to turn to?  I have fallen through all the cracks, crevices and chasms of the system and feels like I'm just being erased further with each moment that passes.

Abstract Lives....

~ Abstract Lives ~

by Renee Bowen

Articulated living... Our lives in pieces, and going around like an accordion.

On the streets, when others have homes, we have Nature.

--The Un-consented Life –

You remember what it means to “give your consent” on something, having that right that 

allows something to be done because you have given your consent,

- like a field trip for school

- or having a medical procedure done.

When your life is forced to be lived out on the brutal streets, you find you are denied 

even the very basic right of giving your consent to anything,

and your existence turns into an “Un-consented” endurance-- you didn't consent to the 

illegal actions from and by a landlord that put you out here,

you didn't consent to having your home taken from you,

or rather being taken from your home,

you didn't consent to having to live your life on the streets,

you never consented to being treated so vilely, so horribly-- but this is exactly what 

happens, whether you consent or not-- you're never given the option of giving your 

consent-- so why the shift?? why are you afforded this “right” as long as you have a 

physical home, you have consent... until you don't?

Forced “consent”, I suppose you could call it.

Regardless of Civil Rights... and citizenship, your consent for what happens to

you is stripped away--- that's why crimes and violence are so prevalent against

the homeless, and is readily accepted and condoned by society.....

thousands of deaths go by unnoticed and unreported.

Because our presence wasn't welcome to begin with and thus they figure no one will miss

 us. And unfortunately, this holds true regardless of race or nationality,

 sex or creed, or orientation.

The general census is when you are homeless, your life matters to no one

once your home has evaporated and opened into Nature---

it's at this time that you need someone to care, but what you find, instead, is the backs of

 everyone turned away from you, no longer turned toward you.

Treated like some kind of highly contagious, deadly disease they will “catch" if they do 

care and actually show it toward us.

So you turn toward nature.... listening to Her songs as the orchestra is ever-present and 

always playing-- all you have to do to hear it is take a deep breath, close your eyes and 

listen.... you're in the front row, always the best seat in the house.

But Nature also has Her mood swings...

At times, you'll find her calm, warm and serene... and other times, 

the most violent temper you'll ever encounter.

Pulling you through the gamut-- the extremes in weather from one side to the next takes 

a hard toll on your body, heart, mind and soul---

Just remembering to breathe at times is its own challenge.

 She will at once embrace you,

and then turns on you all in the same breath. The solace comes from the feathered and

 furry friends that share their space with you and you with them.

Becoming your closest friends and confidants, sometimes co-conspirators, as well.

And will always keep you entertained and a smile in your heart.   

The Courage to B R E A T H E

   ~ The Courage to Breathe ~

                                    A Life From The Streets

The emptiness filling your soul as you wake to yet another morning of being out on the streets --- Forced into circumstances you didn’t choose and couldn’t have imagined in your worst nightmare, has become my life. Every morning pasting a fake smile on my face that I really don’t feel and drudging along through another day of Hope, sprinkled heavily with despair. My heart closing tighter in my chest-- Looking forward to and dreading facing another day, another night.

The shadows displacing the echoes of fear….

The Whispers of Hope through the gentle touch of loving kindness when it is bestowed from someone who really cares-- A rarity to behold and treasure. Shown the briefest glimpse of Humanity. Being shown such vicious contempt more often than not when you no longer have the privilege or luxury those four precious walls and solid roof afford you.

The gift and blessing that gentle touch brings to your heart, your soul--- gives you the courage to breathe, the courage to make it through another night, and face another day. The courage to keep your heart open to love, the courage to face the ignorance, hate, and violence with love and not lower yourself to become someone different by acting out with the same.

The harsh cruelty you have to contend with day-in, day-out starts to harden your heart, filling the depths like wet cement; yet we’re drying out on the inside. The violent assaults, both verbally and physically simply because of a circumstance we didn’t choose but are forced to endure; Yet, we’re the ones considered CrAZy, unbalanced, unstable. Given these labels the moment your home is so abruptly taken from your life, so society unleashes their full fury toward you like a wild fire spreading through the forest. Given full clearance to show their ugliness in full, disgusting glory—Simply because we no longer have that precious commodity called a H O M E.

Being accused of stealing your own water when you go into a store to use their restroom—Demanding to see the receipt for a nearly empty bottle with no label on it, but they insist ‘they sell that brand’. Followed around like you’re a criminal because you carry a bag on your shoulder-- Yeah, I’m obviously NOT carrying enough weight and looking for even more to carry. No matter how clean and presentable you are, you’re automatically guilty of stealing what you take in with you and carry with you at all times when you walk in with a bag on your shoulder—Because we obviously came in to STEAL something, why else would we have a bag on our shoulder???

Almost compelling you not to go out of your way to be clean, to find, at last, some way to get that precious roof over your head and continue to push against the never-ending doors being slammed hard in your face-- Just succumb to the inevitable of being the human waste of society. Give up on caring, on love, ….on life, the way society wants you to, expects you to.

Discarded as a Human Being the very moment the stars in the skies become your roof and the trees and bushes become your walls. Your living room transforms into the park benches you find during the day just to rest your tired, blistered feet and swollen ankles for the briefest of time before you have to push forward and move on once more. The tread soon wearing quite thin from the endless miles being put on them---

Given the worst looks when you finally find SOME PLACE just to sit for the briefest of time, even when you are boarding and riding the bus, people make their comments about ‘your bags’, demanding to know ‘why’ you carry so much, leave it at home-- We can only dream of the day when we don’t have to carry our life, or what’s left of it around with us. People will look at you like you’re an alien if you happen to be walking around, and being out in the wind all night, haven’t had the chance to see why people are giving you such disgusted looks as you make your way to the nearest open and available restroom. Then understanding their disdain with your presentation. Your hair standing on end, looking like you kept a few wet fingers a little too close to some light sockets.

And when you add a disability to this, especially one of a physical nature, the violence escalates to an even higher degree. People going out of their way to be so very cruel, mean, and nasty toward you and to you, because society deems what is ‘Tolerated’ and what will NOT be when you have a disability and you have to move and present yourself within the narrow confines prescribed and set forth by society. Trying to ‘Prove’ that you’re ‘faking’ it—you must be, because you are not MOVING the right way, at least not in the way that society has prescribed as what is ACCEPTIBLE, PERMISABLE AND ALLOWABLE in the way you move, act, and present yourself--- They literally go tripping you up, pushing you hard into the ground, assaulting you from every angle; both in the violence, ignorance, and hate of their words, as well as by and through their violent actions and behaviors directed fully at you, making very rude, caustic remarks in passing. Laughing their asses off as you walk by—because you’re just the funniest damned thing they ever did see. Some, unconvincingly, try to cover their ignorant laughing by coughing or clearing their throats-- feels the same regardless of the method and tactic they use! All I can hope is that at some point in their lives when something happens TO them or to someone they care about, that impairs their mobility in any way that they have their own ignorance measured back to them.

Cast off from society, from life… From love… Not wanting to face another moment cast aside along the debris of the gutters and forced to contend with the ugliness of humanity. Reminding yourself to remember to breathe-- something that comes so naturally to most becomes a chore when you’re on the streets. Discouragement flows through the flood-gates from the endless rivers of disappointments coming to you from all directions and from every avenue—

Being continually denied assistance, employment, nourishment to the heart, soul as well as to the body. It takes courage to keep pushing forward, breathe and endure another day trying to find the slightest crack where a little hope may yet reside, looking for any sign that your efforts aren’t in vain. It becomes a race to not let discouragement take the reins and release your grip , allowing it to fully take over.

It takes courage to breathe in the absence of love, it takes courage to breathe when your presence is an unwelcome intruder. People only pretending to care when and how it suits them and then only when it’s comfortable for them to do so.

It takes courage to breathe when your heart is shelled out, then scraped raw like the insides of a melon-- people believing one could turn off their hearts like a faucet, turn love on and off as it suits them-- not realizing the devastation left in their wake-- pretending to love you one minute then turn into someone you no longer know as they hit you with such open hostility for opening your heart and allowing them access to the precious parts within, taking hold of it, mutilating it, then rip it from your chest, eliminating it from their lives.

By Renee Bowen

Homeless Since Sept. 1, 2000

© 2006 All Rights Reserved

Fragments...

Fragments of a Life...

Fragments of friendship, threads of existence, pieces left trailing behind. Pieces,
that's what you find yourself picking up every moment from a former life that no
longer exists, when you are put on the streets. You are picking through a
life that happened an eternity ago, picking up pieces here, tidbits there and scraps
along the way... Like a puzzle that no longer fits together. 

The edges have worn off, chewed down and no longer connect like they once did.

I'm enduring my 12th year on the streets and meeting with increased harsh
criticism for being out here. People claim I must enjoy being homeless,
because they don't “see” medoing anything to change my circumstance.

They say “ I'm not doing anything about my situation”, Telling me the weather changes

but that I never do. Wish I knew where these people were getting their faulty 
information, because they are grossly misinformed. I invite these people to come with 
me through my days, my weeks, my years and see firsthand what I have to go 
through and contend with. Then they can tell me I'm out here by choice, 
that I enjoy being homeless. But that would mean they would have to widen their 
myopic vision. It makes it easier to cast stones when people choose ignorance 
over the truth and understanding. They see others getting assistance

left and right, being paid to support their addictions and habits, chemical dependency,
so I must be doing something wrong!! 
 

Yeah, by not drinking, or becoming chemically dependent or a substance abuser,
drug addict and so forth, is what I am doing wrong.

I've had several individuals, all well-intentioned, tell me I need to start doing drugs

so the system will finally give me the assistance they have readily denied me thus far.

The raw intensity of living with Mother Nature and the brutal force of man wears on your soul.

Your mind begins to numb after a while, and your body quickly adapts to whatever

circumstance it's presented with, accepting faster than your mind will allow.

Your world becomes a void, a them in “society's movie”, where your life and all the most

intimate details become the feature presentation on the screen for everyone's viewing.

Your dignity is flushed down the public toilet. You become a shadow on the wall
with no existence... echoes filling the air with the tired souls cast aside
into a perpetual hell of a forced circumstance.

I've been so completely drained on every level during these past few months,
the harsher criticism in response to words I never wrote but stamped with my name,
making it more challenging to take care of my personal business. 
I have learned to become a chameleon and blend into my

surroundings while on the streets. Like shedding layers of skin, the
threads of your life are pulled apart and shredded until

nothing further remains and you feel yourself drying out from
the inside like cracked cement.



By Renee Bowen
Homeless since Sept. 1, 2000


     

Makeshift Lives...

Makeshift Lives...

~Echoes of a Home~

The ugliest words in the human language are Homeless and being homeless.

 What comes to mind when the word Homeless is mentioned, in any regard? You 
immediately get an image of what you believe homeless looks like... which is 
the commercialized version, not the reality version... but have you given any 
thought to what it actually feels like, to be homeless? The stigma that automatically 
comes with the title and label... the mis-perceptions, gross judgments and 
assumptions that hold no truth. If you don't look like a walking 
trash bin and smell like a sewer, then you can't be homeless.

The stereotypes cast into roles that have never fit, trying out for a part we 
were not properly cast in. Living on the streets is challenging enough without the 
added labels and stigma attached to it, immediately cast our way even before they 
actually see us, actually set their eyes on us -- cast into roles that have never ‘fit’, 
but condemned by hear-say, not by the evidence of Truth. 
Too blind to see and too deaf to hear---

I didn’t choose to be put out here, yet I’m always being prosecuted for the 
actions of others-- it’s this response toward me that turns me ‘off’ to life-- Forcing 
myself to remember to breathe and remembering why I should bother to keep going. 
I often wonder what it is that keeps me pushing, fighting and holding on (to what..??).

Transitional Living....

When you live your life, or merely an existence of a semblance of

what once was a life, on the streets,

your life becomes mobile in the truest sense.

Everyplace and any place,

using the resources around you for your temporary housing,

becomes your residence, at least for a few minutes, perhaps a couple

days, weeks at most, before you are forced to another

destination, but not one that takes you

any place.

Carrying your 'home' with you at every moment.

And the cycle repeats. Everyday.

You become an expert at packing, as this is a daily ritual.

Camping becomes your new sport.

Walking becomes your main form of transit, no matter if your body is able

to carry you or not, you are not given the choice or the

luxury of just being for a time, allowing some healing to unfold through 
your body. Putting more miles on your feet than most people do their cars. 
People would be surprised the mileage we put on our feet when your

home is the great outdoors, they wouldn't believe the

information listed on a pedometer if we had them attached to us.

They would insist they we had somehow rigged it, as the numbers showing

could not possibly be true. Follow us then. But then anyone following us

would fall to the wayside, they could not keep up.

Beginning my mornings by meditating before the chaos of the day unfolds.

It helps prepare my mind and heart for the day to come.

My companions of the night, furry and feathered, are the most

treasured friends I have and give me reason to breathe in, and out, and try to

remember to repeat the cycle.

Life in Transit...

Not given the chance to make a home, but we have many residences.

Never knowing where you might find your self at any point of the day or night.

What city or town you will be in, not usually by choice.

How long will you be given the chance to breathe, before you are forced to move?

 How long before some home residing person calls the cops

on us just for being present?

And taking advantage of whatever resources are at your disposal at any 
given moment... a sink, I'll pull out my shampoo or toothpaste out and

get down to business. Learning to clean up in the quickest time and measuring the

time allotted, for what you will do. If I have 3-5 minutes, I can wash my hair and 
brush my teeth at the same sink, before heading out and moving on. Always having 
what I need with me, since I never know when the opportunity will 
present itself. Stayed prepared.

By Renee Bowen

Homeless since Sept. 1, 2000

© 11/2011

Cardboard Dreams...

 

 

~ Under Construction~

The Building of Cardboard Homes

Cardboard Dreams...

Cardboard Lives: Constructing Indomitable Spirits

Ever wonder how it comes about the abundant homes that are made 

out of cardboard....

The Building of Cardboard Homes (Our Lives)-- makeshift lives, 

living on the streets. Days flow into weeks, which turn into months and 

transform into years.... time no longer holds any meaning when you are 

on the streets. Days blend and blur, becoming one long day.

 

Have you ever wondered where and how people began living in 

Cardboard homes?? Or did you just make a snap judgment about it, claiming 

they are 'junkies, alcoholics, low-life's...Just lazy and so forth? Most people, 

contrary to popular belief, did not choose to be homeless and most are not out 

here due to chemical dependency, otherwise the streets would be overflowing 
with Doctors prescribing their own addictions. Homeless living is 

highly stressful, soul-grinding existence... lazy need not apply!! 

As this is not for the weak or feint of heart.

You ever wonder about the lives inside-- beyond the cardboard?? 

Do you ever see the person before you, or do you automatically 

discard us as mere trash along the way? Perhaps pass 
judgment for something you know nothing about, assuming you know 

exactly "why” we are out here.--Living takes on a whole other meaning 

when you are looking up to the heavens when you awaken... peering through 

the holes, the spaces from where the cardboard that you have placed 

around you shifts with your every move. The soft folds of night that 

held everything in shadow as it slips and fades from the first shafts of 

morning light begins to take over. Peeling and picking the residue and 

layers of Mother nature off that has settled through the night, 
the sediments from the night that leave and has left their marks... 

insects, rocks, grassy bits, twigs and leaves, among the masses..... 

before moving into your day. All these things in various stages of 

embedment through your body, and found in the oddest of places.

You learn the true meaning of isolation and being non-existent when you are 

forced to live your life on the streets, even when surrounded by people, 

you find you’re not welcome and made to feel like you have never mattered… 

People pretending to be your friend, then turn their backs on you, making it 

crystal clear your presence isn’t there… you simply cease to exist, in their eyes-- 

in their consciousness. Without ever telling you what happened. Butchering 

your heart in the process because you cared, loved and trusted them with your 

heart and felt it in your entire being. People forget you are a real person--- 

a living, breathing, feeling being just like them. But they do not 
treat you as a person, rather something to be discarded and avoided like a 

toxic substance they “need” to steer clear of. It doesn't diminish the pain and deep 

sadness left in its wake, that permeates your heart and touches the core of your being.

And when you are on the streets, people insist you have so many places to go, so 

much shelter and so many places to get out of the rain and so forth, and they 

refuse to believe otherwise. When you are on foot, have little or no access to bus service, 

which is all but non-existent on the weekends-- you’re left out in the cold in the truest sense. 

Your choices are extremely limited. If the library is open, you can go in there for a 

brief time, then when they close, you’re left out again, and trying to find 
another place out of the brutal weather becomes more challenging. Finding some 

place where no purchases are required in order to sit in there for any length of time, 

such as Kinko’s or Safeway-- and they are not always an option, not when 

you are no where near them. But people insist, “oh, Renee, you have to 

have some place you go-- I know you are not 
outside 24/7-- OK, come out with me then.

Falling through the cracks…

Slipped trough and fallen through and into all the crevices and cracks of 

this screwed up “system”, the chasms deepening and widening with each endless 

attempt trying to receive what I am fully  entitled to, yet refused and denied 

with increasing cruelty and the nightmarish hell the system drags you through… 

when you are physically challenged, female and homeless… literally forced 
to live on the brutal streets, no income-- you are slammed head first repeatedly into 

the walls, then dragged over hot coals. Your health, your very life compromised, 

discarded, dismissed as the hours roll into days, flowing into weeks, changing 

into months, turning into years, morphing together where time has become 

suspended, no longer holding or holds any meaning. 

 
Your life… a void in the chasm.

When you are not chemically dependent, don’t have a habit to ‘support’, 

a convict or a felon, or an illegal immigrant, you are denied your very existence. 

The very ‘rights’ we’re supposed to be guaranteed, food, clothing, shelter… 

readily dismissed. And the battle begins. Refused housing because there is no income, 

denied sustenance because you don’t have a “physical” residence. The catch-22 that 

loops continuously, the cycle that has no end. When you are a single individual, female, 

and clean-- there is no category for you--- ‘well, you don’t drink, you don’t smoke, 
you don’t do drugs… you look too clean, so you cannot possibly need assistance. 

You don’t “look the part, or smell the part… don’t look like you are homeless, so 

obviously you don’t need help. We only help people who ‘do’. Even the so-called ‘programs’ 

are only designed for chemical dependents, families with dependent children and seniors. 

Fallen through the crack, time and again.

Renee Bowen

Homeless since Sept. 1, 2000

© 2011

Thanksgiving Day...

Thanksgiving...   takes on a whole new meaning when your life is lived on the streets.  This marks my 12th winter and Holiday season on the streets, as my 11 th year anniversary of being put out here by and through the illegal actions of a landlord just passed on Sept. 1, 2011.  This day has held many blessings, which I am trying to focus on, But it held even more of the ugliness cast my way, firing off like a machine gun aimed directly through my heart, which cannot be dispelled completely, but rather a good portion manages to become absorbed in the deepest pores of your being, no matter how much you try to deflect it.  Wondering how many people actually are aware of each breath they take or something else they give such disregard to, like those of us having to face each and every day when you live on the streets.  Having to remind my Self to breathe, in and out, and repeat...   fully aware of each breath I take, sometimes forgetting to let it out.  It wears on you, more than I could ever convey, living, breathing and feeling every nuance of the streets, and everything it entails... which would be much easier to contend with, if we didn't have to contend with the endless ignorance of those two-legged creatures that make our life a living hell.  Forgetting the fact we are people just like them, feel actually more than they do, continue to breathe, in and out.  That there is actually a person on the receiving end of their ugliness.  Letting assumptions run their lives, and all but ruin ours...

Donated Lives... Donation Living

 Donated Lives:

~ Donation Living ~

(For) most of us, we never give much thought to donations, what is donated, 

where donations go-- until you find yourself on the receiving end and in need of

donations to exist when you are forced into a different existence where 

donations become your very livelihood, something you must rely

on for just about everything when your roof expands and opens up to

become the skies above and your walls fold out into Nature's

Embrace, as you are surrounded by Her Beautiful Creatures--

Donations become an absolute necessity, but parceled out

in unequal, uneven and unfair amounts.
Some church's idea of a "Hygiene Bag" consists of only a baggie of 
condoms and a toothbrush.  When I have received these, it goes right into 
the trash, I have no use for such junk, I need things I can use, like soap, 
and shampoo, clothes... 

Some places requiring a "referral" from some State or County

"Agency", or Church, in order to get even a single article of needed clothing, 

food, or transportation assistance for the bus.

Some places only allowing for an exchange for one item needed, for something 

you are wearing and need.  Claiming they could not just let people 

come in and take whatever they want.  That in order to get something 

you need, you need to give something you are using and need to "balance" 

it out for everyone.  

Makes perfect sense, doesn't it??

Clothing and toiletries are the most needed, yet hardest to come by 

necessities and rarely are you able to actually find something that really works, 

fits and is useful.People donate anything and everything with little or 
no thought or regard to about what they are donating.

Most only caring about the write-off they will get 

in exchange for "donating" the items they have.

--Life takes on a whole different meaning and texture when you have to rely

fully on donations for your barest essentials...  especially, when you are female.

At times, I have had to play Musical Hotels/Inns/Motels in order to get 

some much needed items to clean up, at least in some regard.

Only on occasion, when absolutely necessary, will I go into some place 

and present myself as though I know what I am doing and where I am going, 

Looking like I am staying in the place, head up to a different floor, wait a bit, 
then head back to the desk, once I have dropped my bags off before 
coming back down, then asking for some toiletries that were not placed 
in my "room".  Rarely have I been asked what room I am in.  But when the 
occasion has arisen to being asked, I just give a random number, 
hoping they actually have that room number.

Sometimes, I get real lucky and come at a time when housekeeping are

making their rounds.  And I'll go to their carts and ask for some supplies.

Always giving me a good, large handful.  Most people never bother using 
these items, they may collect them as "souvenirs", but rarely, if ever, 
actually use or need these items. But when your home is in the outdoor 
arena, these items are treasures to covet.

They are easy to keep in your pockets, take up little space and can

be placed in pockets all over the place.  So you can always have access to

something.  The only bad things about these items are their 

packaging.  More than once the little bottles of lotion, shampoos or soaps 

break or turn upside down, and the caps somehow twist off, causing a bit 

of a mess.  It becomes quite obvious when you start seeing bubbles come out in 

different areas of your bags when it rains.  Not realizing until then what happened.

That's always fun.  Self-cleaning bags. But it is par of the course and 
one of the many hazards of being out here.

Renee Bowen

Homeless since Sept. 1, 2000

Copyright 2011