Wednesday, August 27, 2008

morning

It's easy to grow accustomed after so many years, the days I walk into work and remind myself that this is their home, folks waking up in pajamas after a long night or a restful one, either way rising with the masses. These walls are the first thing they see when their eyes open and I can't help but wonder if they meet the day with a groan as I sometimes do. But for me, it's simple. I rise and pad into my kitchen and make coffee, take a shower alone with the shampoo I've chosen. I open the blinds and let the day in and might even take a few minutes to check in with all of you. But my friends, they wake up and will wait for coffee, depending on the hour and showers are always rushed and in tandem, the never ending feeling of a locker room, walking the long hall to wait their turn. Then they'll eat what we serve and will pull clothes from rumpled bags and figure out how to make it through one more day without a place to call their own.

One of the guys I know is on his way out as I'm walking in, he's got his work clothes on and a sack lunch, he'll work all day moving rich folks belongings and then come back here tonight and eat what we serve and go to sleep with blankets we offer and wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. My work, the place I earn my keep is their home. Sometimes it's easy to forget we all wake up to the same sun.

I'm scrambling these days, work is kicking my ass and I'm running short on time to write and to make the rounds but I can't stand the plus two crib sitting silent so I've lined up some sisters to come and make themselves comfortable, ones who will bring a little levity into the house and I know you'll make them feel right at home.


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16 comments:

mamatulip said...

You have offered a perspective that, admittedly, I haven't considered before: The place you call work is the place they call home.

That is profound.

patches said...

Same sun, same air, and completely different perspectives...we should all take the time.

painted maypole said...

thank you for being there for them, for giving them a home when they have none

Janet said...

We do all wake up to the same sun, don't we? Thanks for the reminder.

Amanda said...

Spot on, friend. I'll lay my head this evening with renewed gratitude.

If you need another sister, you can count on me.

hele said...

I will be thinking of you and sending you resting under a tree drinking beer with a good friend laughing about nothing energy.

Anjali said...

I don't think I'll ever look at the sun the same way again.

Thank you for that.

liv said...

it is a comfort to feel as if we all see the rays of the same sun. xoxo

meno said...

It's so easy to forget how lucky we are. Good thing you are here to remind us.

Omaha Mama said...

It took me a minute, really. I'm thinking, why is her crib empty? Where is her M? Okay, I'm with you now. Your BLOG. Sigh.

Gwen said...

I've got nothing profound right now, jen (and i'm sure it has nothing to do with the children singing in my ear). I just want to acknowledge you, and the work you do and the people you do it with.

crazymumma said...

Damn but we all need some levity these days.

flutter said...

love you baby!

Amy Y said...

Oh, the picture you paint.

Missing you already, Mama.

Kyla said...

Everyone seems to be taking vacations lately. I think it is a good thing.

Don't stay away too long, though. ;)

Lisa b said...

I havent' volunteered since my daughter was born four years ago but I still think of the men who would sleep in the church basement and then head to work in the morning. It is unfathomable to me that they worked yet did not have a place of their own in this country, this rich city where we all have so much.
I love this vivid image of your work place. thanks.