Rosa picked me up a sandwich from the local diner for supper last night. Toasted white bread piled high with roast beef, American cheese, mashed potatoes, and gravy. It was sloppy, but oh so delicious. I had to eat it with a fork and knife. I finished off the meal with a large portion of steak fries dipped in corn syrupy ketchup. I could feel my arteries clogging for the hours after the meal.
This morning we went on our normal walk. That homeless woman I had spoken about in a previous post was hanging out at the convenience store by the post office. I have a soft heart for anyone undergoing such rigors. The heat lately has been oppressive and I was worried about her.
"I want to rescue her," I told Rosa as we passed by, watching her sit on the sidewalk.
"You will get yourself in a world of shit," was Rosa's reply.
"I just feel a certain kinship with homeless people."
"I try to forget I was ever homeless," Rosa said. "You should, too."
Rosa's blithe response this morning to the woman's predicament surprised me. It was almost as if she was jealous of my diverted attention. I have thought for the rest of the morning of driving down there and asking that homeless woman if she wanted to try the Rescue Mission in Columbus. I realize Rescue Missions are horrible places, though. Filled with depressing people and even more depressing environs. It is kind of like a modern day concentration camp. It is hard to believe they go about their mission in the name of Christianity as they afford a homeless person little dignity. Maybe, the homeless lady is just fine where she is at for the moment. I should leave well enough alone.
I don't know what is up with me these days. I seem to have homelessness upon the brain. I dream grand dreams of pulling on my big Kelty backpack and setting out for a long walk about America. Rosa and Maggie keep me tethered to home. "You just don't understand," I told my father of my homeless dreams last night during our medication ritual. Strange dreams. Even stranger longings. They are all apart of my life these days. Excuse me while I drive down to the library and find that book about the man who walked around the Southeast during the seventies, homeless. I can live vicariously through the written words of that book for a few days.