Something new on the block

For a while I was sweating the load, status-wise. When I first moved on my block, I was not on the bottom of the economic ladder. There was a woman living back behind Dean's house that sat on the bottom rung. Then she moved. Damn. It was hard to say "Good Morning" to my neighbors. Mostly I said "Good Day" as I was getting up too late. Now, we have some homeless folk, once again living with Dean (bless his egalitarian heart). I am no longer the poorest person on my block!
They have Southern accents and talk real loud. Hard to blend in when you talk funny and don't mind if the world knows it. I guess they are from Georgia. I once drove from Georgia to La Conner. Takes two days just to get into and out of Texas. I digress. What I want to point out is that as long as they are there, I am looking like a first-class productive citi-zen. Without doing a damn thing different or anything extra. There is a lesson to be learned in that. I will have to carefully chew on this one so as to get all the flavor out.
It is hard to be homeless. It is also hard to be a Homeowner; taxes, bills, inflation, etc. I have never owned a home, except for my own body and it needs painting, a new roof and some sorely needed foundation work. I've been homeless a couple of times. One time I called it "camping", that was nearly one and a half years and it was more of a hermit thing. The other time I lived in my van, on the streets of Tacoma. Homelessness in a city is truly no joke. It takes a strong personality to keep all the ducks in-a-line. Any weakness and you drop quickly.
Now, most people don't have the internal resources to be unaffected by homelessness. In a smaller town, where people don't suffer from the "not my business" syndrome, you get some relief; you can breathe. Homeless = Hopeless. Hopelessness is self-reenforcing. Once a-drift you are pretty much at the whims of the currents and winds.

Last night was no-mike open mike night. The cafe was packed and we had a real good time. Ed and Bob played their Guitars and some guy brought a bass fiddle and was thumping out the rhythms. Everybody sang along and Nora did her near-famous Flamenco dance routine, complete with wack-tack shoes and a swishy skirt. Annabells' British friend, Becky,( from Paris) sang, and how! I made coffee. Gary did his funny folk songs, one dedicated to my crepitation skills. He also brought a delicious summer sausage.