Sweet Anthony

My crush passed away...

I was away for the summer and when I came back I kept my eye out for him. He was around but shortly after I heard through the neighborhood grapevine that he died recently.

After the Valentines incident I did have one other opportunity to speak with him. The kids and I saw him hanging out near a bus stop so we rushed to the store to get him some snacks.

His name was Anthony.

RIP sweet Anthony.

Value Village Mission

So for the past few days I had this nagging feeling that I should go to Value Village. I felt like there was something there I needed. A little weird? Not so much for a thrifter. Sometimes you just get the feeling that there is a treasure waiting for you. I hadn't been to this VV in about 5 months and thought that maybe there was some vintage fabrics waiting to be discovered.

While my daughter and I were making our way to the fabric section of the store I heard a man say something. I didn't realize he was talking to me. Once he caught my attention he asked if I had a couple dollars because he needed to buy these pants. He held up a pair of men's dress pants. My immediate reaction was negative, "ugh, just another guy wanting my money". My very next reaction was one of compassion, "Here is a man who needs PANTS". I looked in my wallet but I only had a dollar bill. Not enough to buy pants. I explained to him that if he could be patient and wait for us I would buy him the pants when I was done shopping. He said yes and was very appreciative.

My daughter and I went to look at the fabric but there was no treasure waiting there for us. A thought struck me. This guy, this is the reason why I was supposed to come here. Now, for some of you, this may seem like crazy talk. But as a Christian, sometimes I feel like God is tugging me in certain directions or calling me to do things. So when this thought struck me I figured God planned this all out. I went back to the man and told him I couldn't spend a fortune but I would like to get him a few things. I told him to look around and find what he needs. He said thank you and went off to look.

My daughter and I couldn't find anything. We found the gentleman and told him we were ready to go. He said he was too. All he had was that pair of dress pants. I asked him if he wanted to get a shirt and he said "I got a shirt" and pointed to the one he was wearing. I was blown away by this humility. If this had been someone else I was sure they would have picked out a dozen things.

We went up and paid for the pants. Afterwards he said thank you and was going to leave the store. I asked him if there was anything else he needed. He insisted that he didn't. I asked him if he was hungry. "Yes" he admitted. I told him I would get him some breakfast. Across the street from the VV is a grocery store. I told him I would meet him there.

He went to the deli counter to pick out some food and I went to the bakery to get my daughter a snack. When I went back to find him I found a security guard telling him he wasn't allowed to be in the store begging. Now I'm not sure what I missed while I was off but I don't think it really warranted the lecture from the security guy. I think what happened was that the homeless man tried asking the security man if there was a debit machine (because I had explained to him that I didn't have cash). The man did have a speech delay and I think the security guard may have misunderstood the man's question. I chimed in that the man was with me and that I would be paying for the things he needed. Mr. Security was all "Oh yes that is fine". So I took the man back to the deli and he picked out a drink and 3 pieces of chicken. I asked him he had a place to stay and a fridge because he could pick out a few things if he needed them. He said no he didn't. I asked him if he needed anything else.Nope, just the drink and 3 pieces of chicken.

Once again I was just blown away at the simple things he wanted. He could have picked up a shopping basket full of groceries and asked me to pay for it. But no, he just needed something to quench his thirst and some protein.

He really just wanted the bare necessities.

We have so much when so many people have so little.

My Crush

I have a platonic crush on a cute old homeless guy who hangs around the local bridge. He is dirty, small and wears a cap. He uses a little cane to hobble around. I haven't had a chance to meet him because where he hangs out isn't very accessible. Today though, I had couple extra valentines chocolates and felt an instant urge to give them to my crush when I saw him in his spot. When I made my turn I pulled over to the side on the bridge, pressed the hazards button on the van, and ran over to him. Poor guy, I probably startled him. I mumbled something like,

"Hi! I see you all the time and I think you are sooooo cute. Here, have these. Happy Valentines Day!"

He said "Thank you" and looked really surprised.

I then ran away back to the van. I was worried I would be blocking traffic on the bridge.

I wish I had asked for his name....

I felt like a 13 year old girl on Valentines Day.

George Martin Squirrel

I clearly remember the first time I met George Squirrel. I had heard a lot about him before meeting him face to face. He was a popular guy. People talked about this man with a great sense of humor and I knew I had to meet him. 

I had been working part time at the drop in centre for a few months already, however, part time staff only worked 3rd, 4th and 5th floor and George was most often spotted on 1st and 2nd floor. One evening I was working on the 2nd floor covering an afternoon shift. He was seated in section 4 by the main aisle. He was sitting with a few of his fellow friends. I remember asking him what his name was and when he told me I said “So THIS is the infamous George Squirrel! I finally get the pleasure to meet you!” and we shook hands. Always being the jokester that he was, he made a rude comment about my firm handshake…

I also remember the 2nd  time I talked to George. A friend of mine had been living on the street for the “experience” and one day he was on the front page of the Calgary Herald. The picture was taken down on Stephen Avenue by the Scotia Bank. Three men were seated on a bench. One was George, his friend Paul and my friend Nathan. The next day when I was coming through the front doors of the drop In centre I saw George. I told him about his picture in the herald. He had seen himself on the cover. We had a talk about my friend Nathan. George said “I remember him. He was sad. Just crying and crying. He was depressed. He is a Christian.”

I remember those first two conversations really well. They are clear in my memory. They took place some five years ago. In the past five years I have made many fond memories with George. Some are a bit blurry, some are picture perfect as if they happened just yesterday. I have always had a soft spot for George. He was so likeable. Everyone loved him. These are my memories of George.

George was a great storyteller. In the first few years that I knew him he would often tell me stories about his life. One of my favorites was about his girlfriend who also lived on the street. The two of them had been camping out. They were spending their days walking around the city making a living. They went bottlepicking to make money. After their hard work they would drink. And after drinking they would go back to their tent and sleep for the night. George often heard his girlfriend sleep-talking and sometimes he would talk to her while she slept. One night while she was sleep-talking George asked her what her pin number was for her bank card. She repeated a 4 digit number. He wrote the number down and took her bank card. The next morning while she was still sleeping George went to the bank. Sure enough she had given him the correct pin number for her bank card. George looked at her account balance and was blown away! She had thousands of dollars in her bank account. [George told me that he didn’t take any of the money]. He went back to his girlfriend and asked her why she was living on the street, bottlepicking, sleeping in a tent when she had all that money in the bank. If I remember clearly, she replied by saying that she loved him. I just remember how shocked George was that she was “slumming it” with him when she could have been living in an apartment. I’m not completely sure, but I think I remember George telling me that she had passed away.

Another time, about 3 ½ years ago, George kept telling me that he saw some blue roses and that he wanted to buy for me. I always thought that was sweet and a little coincidental.. I love blue roses!!

Another time I asked George what he thought about God. He told me that one time he had fallen off a high place and hurt his leg. A little while later he went to a church service. The pastor was healing people. George walked down the aisle and the Pastor prayed for him. He told me that God had healed him. He walked out of the church without any pain and no limp.

Every once in awhile George would smell ripe. I would get him a change of clothes and offer to help him with his laundry. When I asked him if he would have a shower he said no. He would refuse. He hated showering. I asked him why it bothered him. “My brother drowned”. He told me he hated water and that he was scared of it. 

George didn’t talk too much about his family. I remember him telling me about his brother. He and his brother had moved to Edmonton from Saskatchewan. They had an art studio there.

He told me that he was married once. But he and his wife would fight a lot. One time when they were fighting  he took off his wedding band and threw it at her. They split up after that. When I asked George if had any kids he told me that he had a son. I think he’s in his early twenties. George didn’t tell me his name. I don’t think he had seen his son in a very long time.

It took George awhile to remember my name. He was always mixing me up with punk rock Jennifer. I’d be walking across the 2nd floor and he’d holler “Jennifer!” and I’d say “George! You still don’t know my name?” He usually would smile and say “I meant Kristy”…  This brings me to the other names he would call me… Sometimes when he saw me he’d say in a deep commanding voice “WOE-MUHN”… I’d just laugh and tell him that I wasn’t his woman. Sometimes when he saw me he would say “How is my horseless Indian?”

When you asked George how he was doing, he would often say “Not too baggy but loose”.
When George panhandled for change he’d walk up to people and say “Give me all your money and you won’t get hurt!” pointing his finger like a gun.

In the first year that I got to know George, he would sometimes sing to me. We would be sitting in section 8 and just talking. Then he’d break out into a sad country song. George was often sad. He suffered from depression. He drank away the pain.

Sometimes George would bring me in random gifts. Things he’d find on the street. One of the gifts I clearly remember was a bracelet. It was made with an elastic material and had tiny blue beads on it. 

One day I came into work and Carrie told me that George had been looking for me the night before. He had told her that he wanted to sell me this hair pin with a jeweled “G” on it. He told her he wanted to sell it to me for 50 bucks so he could buy a bus ticket to Edmonton. He was always talking about moving back to Edmonton. So that night at work George came in and told me he had something to give me. Sure enough it was the “G” bobby pin. I asked him if he was “selling “ or “giving” it to me. It was a gift. He wanted me to have it. (That makes my heart melt!!). So I wore it every day on my staff vest. Its funny how his story changed.

Once I hooked George up with one of the counselors so that he could get GST checks. He told me that when he got the money he would move to Edmonton. The money came but he never moved.
George was a very different person when he was sober. He was very quiet and rarely felt like talking. He would have a sad stern look on his face. He just wasn’t approachable. Sometimes I would try initiating conversation. Sometimes I would just sit beside him while he watched T.V.

I left work a year ago to be on maternity leave. I don’t even know if George realized I was pregnant. After I had been gone for 6 weeks I went to get my hair cut at the mall. While walking through the mall I saw George sitting in the food court by himself. He was sitting at a high table on a bar stool. He had a coffee cup with instant oatmeal. It was probably his lunch. I was so excited to see him. It had been a few months since I had actually seen him. I quietly sat beside him and said Hi. I don’t remember much of our conversation. I do remember telling him that if he was still there after my hair cut I would buy him lunch. Sadly, he wasn’t there when I got back. 

The next time I saw him my son was about 4 months old. I was in the same mall leaving wal-mart. He was happy to see me. He told me he was wondering where I was. I showed him my baby. He was pretty sober at the time. He seemed run down. He was wearing a sweater and green running shoes.  He asked me for change. I was in a hurry to meet someone so couldn’t chat for too long. While I drove away I told myself that I would buy George lunch the next time I saw him.

Little did I know he would die 5 days later.

"In June (2007), George Martin Squirrel, 47, was killed at the Brentwood LRT station after he climbed onto the tracks to retrieve a lost water bottle and was struck by a passing train.
Police say Squirrel was also intoxicated." 

Day in Day out

I know these men. They have spent countless days working for themselves. Being their own bosses. Getting up early in the morning, before the sun comes out. Many sleep in a room full of other men. It's not a good nights sleep. People coughing, talking, snoring, and unfortunately, passing gas.

They get up. They get garbage bags. They dress for the weather. They get their tools. It could be a shopping cart or a homemade stick to grab the cans with.

Sometimes they work in pairs. Sometimes on their own.

They have routes. They have regular clients who leave out their recyclable cans and bottles. They pick through garbage bags and bins. They recognize bags they've prodded already. Marked with a slash.

These men see everything. They see the notes you've thrown in the trash. They see the supper you never finished. They find the stuff you no longer want. That old computer. Those old shoes. The cat litter. The rotten milk.

It's not a fabulous job. But someone can do it. Not has too, but can. Someone can do it.

And they do. Day in, day out.

A precious friend of mine took me along once. It was a wonderful morning. Being on that side with him. Being apart of his world.

Pick'n Date

I want to write about a life often unknown. A counter culture job. When I get the time, I'll write it out here.