A Face in the Crowd

Buildings in downtown Portland, OR
Photo by Rob Cork

I don't remember the first time that I saw him. I'm certain that I had probably seen him several times before I really took notice though. After living in the same neighborhood for a few years, and walking through it nearly everyday, a person gets a sense of who belongs there, who fits into this mosaic of people, cafes and small shops. Some folks blend, perhaps they fit so closely with the pieces that surround them, that they lose some of their personality, and color. Other people are ill-fitting, with jagged edges, their corners raised, cracked and chipped, poking out from the surface just enough spoil the overall effect. Then there are some real gems, like a cabochon, perfectly set into a stained glass window. But, sometimes even the most beautiful bit of colorful glass needs repair and cleaning after collecting years of grime.

While drinking coffee at our favorite Starbucks one evening, we watched him walk by. Rob and I started out calling him, "Crazy Homeless Dude." Actually, I probably started out calling him Crazy Homeless Dude, and it stuck.

As it turned out, Rob and I had both taken notice of the disheveled man with dirty dreadlocks and filthy, tattered clothing. There is something about him that strikes a chord of curiosity; we wish that we knew his story. But, we don't. So over the years, we've made up a story for him, then edited it and rewritten it. About six months ago, we decided that he needed a proper name, so we decided to call him William. He looks like a guy who should be named Will, but, I still slip up and call him Crazy Homeless Dude, once in awhile.

Portland has a seemingly large homeless population, and in my neighborhood there are panhandlers who have their corners, benches or patches of sidewalk. They're part of the mosaic. And as much as I expect to asked for money by some folks, I know that William will never ask me for anything.

For months, I assumed that he didn't speak. He seems to float in a bubble of his own making. He walks about the neighborhood, sometimes checking trash cans for discarded foods and drinks, which he consumes at the can and promptly tosses the unwanted parts back into the bin. He seems to be only semi-lucid, until he makes eye contact. Then it's obvious that there is a person deep down under the grime.

One day when I was walking to the Safeway, I saw him talking to another man on the street. Actually, he was bantering, and laughing, as he talked about the Portland Trailblazers basketball team. I remember being completely surprised that he actually does speak. And I was strangely happy with this new information.

If Rob and I don't see him for a few days, we begin to worry. One day after nearly a month had gone by, we saw him in another neighborhood, clean, neatly dressed and with a fresh new haircut. We had to look twice to make sure that it was him. But, when he looked at us, with recognition, then we knew for sure that it was Will.

As the weather gets warmer, the neighborhood begins to come back to life, and more people begin to fill the streets. One day, Rob and I walked past a bench where Will was sitting, and excited to see him after several weeks, we both smiled, maybe said a silent hello and prayer for him as we walked past. I remember how carefully he looked at us, then a slight smile came to him. Rob and I talked about this later, deciding that, we must stand out to him, just as he does to us.

So there is this odd 'relationship' forming. I've tried to think of a comparison, but, I don't really have one. Perhaps it is akin to chatting with the cat lady who lives in the basement apartment down the street, when you see her at the grocery store. Perhaps it's nothing like that. Perhaps it's nothing at all. Perhaps it isn't even a relationship, except that Rob and I choose it to be. Perhaps it is completely one-sided, and that we only imagine that he recognizes and acknowledges us. Then something happens to make us think otherwise.

Thursday was as close to a perfect Spring day as I will ever see. Rob and I both had busy days, and as evening approached, I didn't want to cook, so we decided to go out for sushi. We walked hand-in-hand under a crisp blue sky, enjoying just being together, soaking up the sunshine. As we walked past the Starbucks our favorite barista stopped washing the store windows for a moment and waved enthusiastically. He always has a genuine smile, and a kind word for people. Rob needed to buy cigarettes, so we dropped by the tiniest tobacco and beer store you've ever seen, a transformed garage, now a market, owned by a husband and wife, immigrants from Ethiopia. She commented on how much she enjoys seeing us walking together in the neighborhood, and how the other day, when Rob was alone, she asked about me. Later in the evening, Rob and I talked about how just living life, happily doing so, and with the grace of God, can be a blessing to others.

And, we saw William that night. Actually, we saw him twice, though I only now remembered the first time. I was driving home after picking up Rob. Will was trying to cross the street, but, got confused by a car that went against the light. He stopped in the street, then returned to the safety of the corner, seemingly unsure of what was the right move to make. I was turning left, and was waiting for him to realize that, indeed, he had the walk signal and that it was his turn to cross. He looked directly at me, then stepped into the street, slowly crossing.

The second time we saw him that night was when we were walking home from the restaurant. He was sitting in a bus stop shelter, about one block from where he had crossed the street earlier in the evening. He had his dirty gray blanket with him, pushed to the side, taking up space on the bench. He looked right at us, and smiled. We smiled back and said, "Hello." Then, unexpectedly, he said, "Hello," back to us. After years of silently wishing him well, of praying for God's blessings upon him, it was the first time that he has spoken to either of us.

As simple as this sounds, we each had such a sense of joy that we were acknowledged by this curious stranger to whom we feel this connection.

I cannot explain why any of this is important to me, or why you should be interested, but, what I can tell you is that, Rob and I believe that we are being called to be a blessing to this man. And, I cannot tell you what that means, what 'being a blessing' looks like, or what will be asked of us. I can only say that it is real, and that we are awaiting whatever our next step will be.

Welcome to Blog Land... (Part II)

"Head at Arches"

If you will indulge me a moment, I'd like to introduce you to another blogger whom I think that you'll find fascinating. Of course staph growing in a specimen dish can be fascinating, as can the range of blue to green to yellow of a bruise, but, I assure you, this is nothing like you've ever seen before.

O'syryous is an artist and writer from Santa Cruz, California. More than this, he is a close friend, Rob's Best Man at our wedding, and someone whom you need to know. Acting as ringmaster, he presents a linguistic sideshow, a freakish kaleidoscope of the strange, complete with everything from daring high-wire acrobatics to more clowns than you ever thought possible to pack into a '74 Gremlin.

I offer you a season ticket, so check it out for yourself: O'syryous Art Productions

He Seemed Like a Nice Guy

On the local television news last week, there was a story about a man who was arrested on suspicion of killing his wife. The reporter stated that the couple had a history of loud arguments and calls to the police department. Continuing, it was explained that the wife had filed for a divorce about a week prior, and on Tuesday, while she was gardening in the couple's yard, the husband allegedly, rammed her with his pickup truck, crushing her against the wall of their garage with enough force to nearly demolish the structure. The video showed the buckled wall, with its gray siding forced out away from the framing.

In true TV Reporter style, the newsman went about gathering up the splinters of the story, pointing out the crime scene tape cordoning off the spring green lawn and garage, and the modest, but well kept street of tidy homes. And, he talked to the neighbors, getting their opinions of situation and the man.

"He seemed like a nice guy," was the comment from one woman. And, what did she base this opinion of his character on? He always greeted her when he rode by on his scooter.

Later in the week, the same news station ran a story about a coach who is accused of sexually abusing one of his athletes. Of course the parents and community were shocked, because, "he seemed like a nice guy." One of the parents interviewed commented that the coach was friendly and talkative.

Then it happened again yesterday, a man with a gun in a neighborhood, near a school. After firing several times at the police, he was shot and killed by one of the officers. In the subsequent interviews with people who knew this man, the story was the same: He seemed like a nice guy.

If I had a nickel for every time someone says, "He seemed like a nice guy," I'd be rich. Think about how many times you've heard this comment, probably, like me, more often than you can count.

We all want to believe as Anne Frank did, "that people are really good at heart."

Until they prove to be otherwise.

Also in the news recently, not that he has ever really left the spotlight for any length of time, is O.J. Simpson, the handsome football hero, actor and spokesman. He, and his group, were declined service at a Louisville steakhouse, the night before the Kentucky Derby.

At first, O.J.'s lawyer said that it was because the restaurant owner is a racist.

If O.J. Simpson were any other man trying to eat a dinner at a restaurant, and was declined service, I might think that possibly the restaurant owner had a problem with someone of a different race, but, O.J. isn't any other customer. O.J. is a celebrity, and a very controversial one at that.

O.J. Simpson is a man who was on trial for killing his ex-wife and one other person. He was found not guilty. He vowed to continue searching for the killer, but, his investigation of nearly every golf course in America, has yet to yield another suspect. He wrote a (yet to be published book), hypothesising how, if, he were the killer exactly how he would have committed the crimes. He seems to be a person who seeks attention, without regard to the kind of attention that he is receiving.

The restaurant owner had every right to protect his business and his patrons, and, if he thought that O.J.'s presence at his restaurant would upset people or cause a stir of curiosity, then he did the right thing by declining service. And from the accounts that I read, it sounds like O.J. did the right thing by leaving without creating an incident.

Then the lawyer got involved, and the "R" word was used.

Perhaps O.J. doesn't realize that his reputation is questionable, and that it isn't always about skin color, that on some level, there has to be consequences for actions, and that a restaurant owner has the right to decline service to someone whom he feels is potentially disruptive to his business. I suspect that O.J. knows full well why he wasn't served that night, but rather than showing some grace, he has decided to exploit a situation, perhaps to build some sympathy for himself.

But, in another odd twist, I have read that O.J.'s attorney has decided not to pursue the racial discrimination lawsuit, that he had been touting, instead, calling the restaurant owner a publicity seeker. I don't know this attorney, but, I'm certain that with a client like O.J., he would know a publicity seeker when he met one.

Maybe we, as a society, should re-evaluate which characteristics make up a "nice guy." If it is only our impression of the way they treat us personally, how often they greet us, or how sweetly they smile, then I wonder if that is an accurate gage of how nice a "nice guy" really is. By all accounts, convicted and executed murderer, Ted Bundy seemed like a nice guy, otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to gain the trust of his victims. And his trial proved him to be otherwise.

I can imagine O.J. and his friends walking out of the restaurant that night. O.J. probably smiled at the other patrons as he exited, maybe he shook a hand or two. As he brushed past a young couple seated by the door, an onlooker whispered to her dinner date, "He seemed like a nice guy."

Mother's Day

(A photo of my mother)

I remember when I was handed my son's birth certificate, and asked to sign it. Right next to the line for my signature was an empty space that read, "Relationship to child." I remember thinking, relationship to child? Hopefully good. But that wasn't the right answer, so I carefully printed the word, "Mother," in that empty space.

And things were never the same again.

For those of you who know exactly what this means, I wish you a wonderful Mother's Day!

I've been tagged! YIKES! TWICE!

Just when I thought that it was safe to start blogging again... Splat! I was hit in a game of Blogger Tag! To my understanding, the person who gets tagged must list seven random facts about themselves, then tag seven other bloggers to do the same. After considerable thought, I came up with four truly awe-inspiring facts about myself, and three which were merely amusing, then, without warning, or further provocation, POW! I was hit again! Shocking. Could there possibly be seven more amusing, or even remotely interesting facts about me? Read on, and decide for yourselves.

#13. I am NEVER without ChapStick.

#52. I don't technically have a high school diploma. When it arrived in the mail, the name printed on it was, "Denny" not "Penny." I felt too awkward to request it to be re-done, since I figured that my poor handwriting must have lead to the error. I corrected it myself with white-out and a black marker.

#5. I have my own fork. I am the only person who uses it. My family knows that it is my fork, and they know not to use it without my permission. It was a hand-me-down fork that I was given for my first apartment. It has very long tines, and possibly magical powers, though this has yet to be proven.

#76. I hate to buy gasoline. This has nothing to do with the price. I just hate to park next to the pumps, for fear of crashing and setting off a major explosion. (In Oregon there is no self-service gasoline, so it has nothing to do with getting dirty.)

#11. When I was 12 years old, I lost an art contest but still had my losing poster about conserving energy published in a teaching guide.

#33. If I could only eat at one type of restaurant, I would choose Japanese. I love sushi.

#97. I love chocolate, it is my drug of choice.

#86. I have (as of this writing) never been given a traffic citation of any kind, not even a parking ticket.

#16. I'm a pore speller, sew I keep a dictionary on my desk at all thymes.

#27. I have never traveled outside of the United States.

#63. I avoid public restrooms, except in dire emergencies. Once inside a public restroom, I will not touch anything with my bare hands ( I cover my hands with my sleeve or a paper towel.) I even flush with my foot. (There's a nice visual for you.)

#10. I sleep wearing socks.

#36. I always have a glass of water at my bedside.

#45. My favorite cartoon character is Tweety because he seems very sweet and innocent, but, he really kicks ass.

And now dear friends, I have to share another fact: I very rarely ever participate in games like this. I usually don't even open emails from people whom I know are sending a "pass this on to 2347 people in 13 seconds, or else a 'giant meteor is gonna land on your house' (credit Pokey Allen, late, great PSU football coach.)" I feel uncomfortable imposing on people. But, that being said, to the two wonderful ladies who 'tagged' me, there are absolutely no worries! But, I apologetically am only tagging one person, someone whom I asked in advance because I thought that she would enjoy playing.

My arrow is aimed at: Cherie! Check out her blog here.

Goodbye: One Year Later

"She Says Goodbye" ACEO watercolor
(This little work is in Texas, in the collection of a little girl.)

May 5, 2007. It was one year ago today, that my friend, Bonnie, died of lung cancer. I painted this girl standing by a tombstone a few days later.

Bonnie was diagnosed with lung cancer in September of 2005, and like many patients, was given the news that there were very few treatment options for her. The National Cancer Institute states that the 5-year survival rates for lung cancer are quite low, when compared to more widely publicized types of cancer:

63% for colon cancer
88% for breast cancer
99% for prostate cancer

15% for lung cancer

In the United States, lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer death for both men and women, though while rates for men (both white and African-American) have begun to decline, women's death rates continue to climb. And as important as research is in combating this disease in all of it's forms, it is shocking that this particular killer is given so little attention. Not even the death of Dana Reeve (March 8, 2006 at age 44) of lung cancer seems to have moved us forward in research.

And Dana Reeve, like approximately 13% of lung cancer patients, was not a smoker.

My friend, Bonnie, was a smoker, though she had quit about 10-12 years prior to her death.

According to the American Lung Association, 87% of all lung cancers are caused by smoking tobacco. There are other factors as well: Radon gas, pollution, environmental work factors (like mining), asbestos, prolonged exposure to second hand smoke, and possible genetic predisposition to specific forms of lung cancer. The National Cancer Institute estimates that in 2007, there will be 213,380 new cancer cases, resulting in an estimated 160,390 deaths.

It would be quite easy for me to rant about the dangers of smoking. But, really, is there anyone who doesn't know this? If I'm not mistaken, tobacco is the only product sold, for human consumption, which clearly warns that the potential results of usage are serious illness or death. But, among young people -- one of the fastest growing groups of new smokers -- this information is sometimes ignored, or disregarded.

Teenagers do crazy things; that's part of the fun of being young, isn't it? Don't you remember that sense of living forever, of never worrying about tomorrow, growing old, getting sick?

I'm very thankful that I never started smoking, even though I grew up in a smoking family, where the air was sometimes a blue-gray haze. No one ever quit smoking in my family, until the day they died. No one died from lung cancer; people in my family die from heart disease, which can also be attributed to smoking.

The American Lung Association explains that by quitting smoking now, in 10 years time, the ex-smoker will decrease his or her risk of developing lung cancer to that of one-third to one-half of those who continue to smoke. And that the longer one remains smoke-free the greater potential repair to the smoker's lungs, which may decrease future risk.

I have to be honest with you, I never gave lung cancer much thought until someone that I cared about got it. I think that this is a disease, much like HIV, when it first came to public attention, that has a "blame the victim component." It's much easier to say that behavior brings about disease, to reason that if someone engages in 'disease causing' activities, then they somehow are getting what they deserve. Harboring those opinions is much easier than seeking cures, but, I am certain that cancer cells and viruses do not know or care if the body they are growing in invited them or not.

I know that some of my readers are smokers. I wish that I could tell you some magic words of encouragement so that you would quit. But, I can't, because quitting smoking is not easy. Many recovering drug addicts still smoke, this after addictions to Cocaine, Meth, even Heroin. And, maybe you'll still get lung cancer, even after going through the hardship of quitting. Or, maybe you'll get hit by a bus, or by a safe falling from a second story window...

But, when you do finally decide to stop smoking, and it's the hardest thing that you've ever done, keep in mind that while you're stressed and cranky, and not much fun to be around, just maybe you'll stay around a little longer. I hope so.

"Try to be More Like a Guy"

Men, they are the most precious, simple creatures that God ever created. I know this from experience; some of my closest family members are men, and, yes, I even have friends who are men. Okay, I know that folks will say, "Oh, I have friends who are (fill in the blank)." But, I'm telling you the truth, I really do have friends who are men. I actually like men, even though they're different. One of my favorite men is my husband, Rob. He's smart, handsome, hard-working, funny, creative and supportive; what more could I ask for? He can also be quite logical, a real Mr. Spock, especially during a disagreement.

Last night an issue came up between us, a differing opinion, an argument, a disagreement -- whatever name you want to call it -- where we each had an idea contrary to the other. During the course of this discussion, he told me that I should "try to be more like a guy" in stating my opinion, rather than relying on emotion, explaining my feelings, or repeating the same points in an attempt to help him to understand my feelings.

Men and women are different, and I admit that I do tend toward emotion, especially in matters of the heart, which my marriage is. But, in deference to Rob's wisdom and clear-headedness, I'm willing to try to be more like a guy, because, "Hey, I'm a guy" is a logical excuse for just about everything.

I think that I'll start by keeping the television remote close at hand, at all times. I wouldn't want the lesser, more emotional, creature of the household making any decisions about something as important as which programs to view, or at what volume, otherwise I might end up watching something like "The OC," or "Gilmore Girls."

I will carry the groceries into the house after shopping, which I will do with my more emotional partner, just to help out. After the groceries are inside, I'll go down to my computer to work on my projects while the grocery fairies put away the food. I won't even thank the grocery fairies for making the list in the first place, thank you notes are not guy-like.

In fact, I'm going to rid myself -- right now -- of all of those 'un-guy-like' traits, dropping them like a wet towel on the bathroom floor. Speaking of bathrooms, the roll of toilet paper is looking pretty low, but, I needn't worry, I know that the bathroom fairies will be along soon to replace it. And, I hope that they remember to put out a fresh bar of soap for the shower, and it looks like the conditioner bottle is nearly empty... (Okay, I do know that there are extra bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and even bars of soap, in the cupboard, but, that would require some concern for others for me to get them out, and concern could be misinterpreted as emotion, and, I can't have that -- and -- be guy-like, now can I?)

There are lots of things that aren't guy-like, so I can finally stop cluttering up my brain with silly details like birthdays, the names of people's spouses, children and pets, food allergies or preferences, anniversaries, special dates, meeting schedules, births, deaths, sickness, job promotions, new home buying, marriages, divorces, parties, invitations, R.S.V.P's... Gone!

I notice that my suitcase is still right where I left it, days ago, after I returned from a business trip. I wonder how long the suitcase fairies are going to let it wait there on the bedroom floor before they put it away? And, I'm feeling a little hungry, but, without the food fairies, my only options are chips and snack bars, but, I like those. Perhaps if I look pathetic, and make mention of the grumbling in my stomach, the emotional one will take pity on me and make me a sandwich. I really hate to do that though, looking pathetic is showing some emotion, but, this is for good reason, desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm hungry. This isn't like how the emotional one uses his emotions to explain that his feelings were hurt, by something that I did, when I was being logical.

Oh, I feel so free! (Wait, feeling free is not very guy-like, what I meant to say was: I am free!)

I think that I'll take a walk to the computer store with my more emotional partner, that would make him happy. I'll let him look at all of the pretty machines for at least five minutes before I begin to lean against the counters, roll my eyes, and/or yawn. I'll pretend not to notice the chest and ass of every hot guy over the age of 18, who walks within 50 yards of my coordinates. But, if the emotional one does catch me, I'll just smile sheepishly and tell him that I love him, that he's sexy, because as a simple emotional creature, words like those will usually do the trick-- unless it's that time of the month -- which I won't even get into. Oh, that's a terrible time, a week of hell for we who are without emotion, but, we must suffer, relying solely on our superior intellect for survival during that time of crisis.

I know that the emotional one still has some unresolved feelings about the issue that was raised last night, but, I'm certain that he will be able to work through them, on his own, without further involvement from me. I know this. But, I also know that the emotional one will probably need to mention the issue again, feeling as though there is some new information he needs to impart, some tidbit that will make all of the difference, that will crack the code, so that I will suddenly be enlightened, suddenly understand the error of my ways, beyond my current level of guy-like understanding.

I'll sit quietly, listening, for key words, picking out the most salient points of his concerns, then repeat, as I often do, "You're right. I'm sorry." It's the phrase that is supposed to bring about the end of the conversation, the cue to move on. Most of the time it works.

I know that there will be other situations which will disappoint my more emotional partner, and that I will disappoint him, without even trying. It's the clashing of two titans, Logic and Emotion. I'll go through this process again, of listening to his feelings. It's all very guy-like, this give and take, I deal in logic and he, in emotion. But, next time this happens, I'll be prepared, now that I'm acting guy-like, I'll pull out my logic card, my Ace, if you will -- the card from which the entire game turns -- and with all sincerity, no emotion and absolute logic, remind him, that, "I'm just a guy."