Blog Dis
I knew of a man...
2024-09-17
Once, a long time ago, I knew of a man who existed the better part of his adult life as houseless; a man who had never owned a home, or rented, who never owned a car or bike or a closet full of clothes. This nameless man, for the sake of respecting his privacy, far preferred the life of a vagabond, to live freely by his wits, and to not be weighed down by his possessions, rather than to fall into the pattern that at least 90% of people will ultimately follow, to enter society clutching a diploma in one hand and holding their dreams in the other w/ an aim to build a fortune.
And so, this houseless man regarded himself as a free, homeless man (his choice of description; not mine) and he lived every day to the fullest. He didn't own a fridge or a TV or a clever phone, nor did he own a watch or anything of an electronic nature. He lived entirely off the grid, never having had an account to purchase hydro services like hot and cold running water, or heating or air conditioning. There were no records of his former addresses or even a current address, and he surely didn't leave behind a trail of accounts to purchase monthly services with utilities, as in the case of Canada, where our Internet Service Providers are considered part of our utilities. These ISPs are regulated, which is to say they enjoy a monopoly w/o having to worry about competitors from other countries, a tactic to ensure monopolies are supported by our government, enabling them to charge three times what others pay for these same services in their country.
On the contrary, the most prized possession of this homeless man was his library card, giving him access to the Ottawa Public Library, and every other branch in the city. He dropped into the library virtually every day, while on his regular route, to read and occasionally watch movies, listen to music, and check his email, how he remained in contact with family and friends. If he was hungry, he'd visit the Mission for Men or the Salvation Army where three meals are served daily, or go to the Food Cupboard for processed food to eat as snacks later on. And if he needed to shower, or wash his clothes, he'd pay a visit to the YMCA to bathe, or if he needed clothing, a local church in our downtown core doubled as a thrift store by offering 'gently used' articles donated by locals. This man was lean. He walked everywhere in the city. His attitude in life was to live as simply as possible. At one point, he was the feature story in one of Ottawa's national newspapers. His life choices were fascinating because he chose the kind of route that most persons would regard as being down and out. Not everyone is up to this challenge. In the dead of winter, temperatures can drop well below the point of freezing. In Ottawa, our temps during a cold snap can plummet as cold as -38 Celsius (-36.4 Fahrenheit) or even lower. This man would then visit one of his regular haunting spots, an eatery or pub, that welcomed the homeless into their establishment, to enjoy a free bowl of soup and maybe even a beer chaser to boot.
When the ending of the article came, the interviewer asked if he had ever tried to play the 9 to 5 game, or to pursue a career other than to live as a homeless man, and his reply was thus, "I don't understand how people live that way, to be regimented. I make up my days as I go along. I get to connect with friends and family. I don't feel rushed." This gave me pause to think. I know far too many people who feel rushed all the time, to pull themselves together to get ready for work, or to pull their children and spouse together, or to cope with the bureaucracy and stress of working and earning a living. To each his or her own, of course. You know your limits and sometimes these are reached even before the end of the work week, so that by the time the weekend arrives, you need extra time to decompress, only to realize there are tasks that require your attention, like cleaning house, getting caught up on paperwork, or connecting with other like-minded persons who are also playing the nine to five game.
Before you come back at me, to point out the obvious that this way of vagabond life wouldn't suit a woman, think again. I've lived in the downtown core of Ottawa for the last nine years, and I see the same homeless woman throughout the year. In fact, when I had lived at least a 25 minute walk from the East end of Ottawa into the downtown core, where I've worked for 25+ years, I saw this very same woman wondering around town, at all hours in the night, and often very early in the morning when shelters empty out their guests for the day. She reminds me of the houseless man, based on her appearance and slight build, and how she appears to be grossly engaged in a full-blown discussion with herself, which sometimes sounds an awful lot like an argument between multiple people. Many houseless persons have a history as a patient from one of Ottawa's psychiatric hospitals. When they become involuntary outpatients, their meds are not indefinitely continued once they've been dispatched. This is a pity, to be sure, despite Canada having healthcare. But many of our hospitals deal with bed shortages, so they may be forced to make difficult decisions where some long-term patients are concerned, which means their regular supply of meds is no longer conveniently provided to them. However, this particular woman, she differs from the homeless man insofar that she carries around with her an extra pair of shoes. Each hand is inserted into both shoes, like some young kid wanting desperately to grow up too soon, walking in his Dad's oversized footwear. She stands ceremoniously on the street corner, changing up corners often enough, as us regular folks make way to our jobs. The times when she's on a corner where I live, and when I pass her, I am fascinated by her ritual. She completes the sign of the Holy cross, saying aloud these words, repeated clearly and in succession three times:
"F*ck you! And f*ck you! And f*ck you!"
Threes the charmer! It brings a smile to my face every time I encounter her. A blessing doesn't always have to be tied up all pretty with a pink ribbon.
And so, this houseless man regarded himself as a free, homeless man (his choice of description; not mine) and he lived every day to the fullest. He didn't own a fridge or a TV or a clever phone, nor did he own a watch or anything of an electronic nature. He lived entirely off the grid, never having had an account to purchase hydro services like hot and cold running water, or heating or air conditioning. There were no records of his former addresses or even a current address, and he surely didn't leave behind a trail of accounts to purchase monthly services with utilities, as in the case of Canada, where our Internet Service Providers are considered part of our utilities. These ISPs are regulated, which is to say they enjoy a monopoly w/o having to worry about competitors from other countries, a tactic to ensure monopolies are supported by our government, enabling them to charge three times what others pay for these same services in their country.
On the contrary, the most prized possession of this homeless man was his library card, giving him access to the Ottawa Public Library, and every other branch in the city. He dropped into the library virtually every day, while on his regular route, to read and occasionally watch movies, listen to music, and check his email, how he remained in contact with family and friends. If he was hungry, he'd visit the Mission for Men or the Salvation Army where three meals are served daily, or go to the Food Cupboard for processed food to eat as snacks later on. And if he needed to shower, or wash his clothes, he'd pay a visit to the YMCA to bathe, or if he needed clothing, a local church in our downtown core doubled as a thrift store by offering 'gently used' articles donated by locals. This man was lean. He walked everywhere in the city. His attitude in life was to live as simply as possible. At one point, he was the feature story in one of Ottawa's national newspapers. His life choices were fascinating because he chose the kind of route that most persons would regard as being down and out. Not everyone is up to this challenge. In the dead of winter, temperatures can drop well below the point of freezing. In Ottawa, our temps during a cold snap can plummet as cold as -38 Celsius (-36.4 Fahrenheit) or even lower. This man would then visit one of his regular haunting spots, an eatery or pub, that welcomed the homeless into their establishment, to enjoy a free bowl of soup and maybe even a beer chaser to boot.
When the ending of the article came, the interviewer asked if he had ever tried to play the 9 to 5 game, or to pursue a career other than to live as a homeless man, and his reply was thus, "I don't understand how people live that way, to be regimented. I make up my days as I go along. I get to connect with friends and family. I don't feel rushed." This gave me pause to think. I know far too many people who feel rushed all the time, to pull themselves together to get ready for work, or to pull their children and spouse together, or to cope with the bureaucracy and stress of working and earning a living. To each his or her own, of course. You know your limits and sometimes these are reached even before the end of the work week, so that by the time the weekend arrives, you need extra time to decompress, only to realize there are tasks that require your attention, like cleaning house, getting caught up on paperwork, or connecting with other like-minded persons who are also playing the nine to five game.
Before you come back at me, to point out the obvious that this way of vagabond life wouldn't suit a woman, think again. I've lived in the downtown core of Ottawa for the last nine years, and I see the same homeless woman throughout the year. In fact, when I had lived at least a 25 minute walk from the East end of Ottawa into the downtown core, where I've worked for 25+ years, I saw this very same woman wondering around town, at all hours in the night, and often very early in the morning when shelters empty out their guests for the day. She reminds me of the houseless man, based on her appearance and slight build, and how she appears to be grossly engaged in a full-blown discussion with herself, which sometimes sounds an awful lot like an argument between multiple people. Many houseless persons have a history as a patient from one of Ottawa's psychiatric hospitals. When they become involuntary outpatients, their meds are not indefinitely continued once they've been dispatched. This is a pity, to be sure, despite Canada having healthcare. But many of our hospitals deal with bed shortages, so they may be forced to make difficult decisions where some long-term patients are concerned, which means their regular supply of meds is no longer conveniently provided to them. However, this particular woman, she differs from the homeless man insofar that she carries around with her an extra pair of shoes. Each hand is inserted into both shoes, like some young kid wanting desperately to grow up too soon, walking in his Dad's oversized footwear. She stands ceremoniously on the street corner, changing up corners often enough, as us regular folks make way to our jobs. The times when she's on a corner where I live, and when I pass her, I am fascinated by her ritual. She completes the sign of the Holy cross, saying aloud these words, repeated clearly and in succession three times:
"F*ck you! And f*ck you! And f*ck you!"
Threes the charmer! It brings a smile to my face every time I encounter her. A blessing doesn't always have to be tied up all pretty with a pink ribbon.
