Dec. 19 Confrontations in the Ghetto

                From Dunkin’ Donuts I put directions into my GPS for Royal Palm Beach. It from Google earth it looks like an upscale neighborhood with several large golf courses, but it also borders on a bunch of rural land that looks pretty barren, so that’s the mixture I’m looking for. It’s a good sixty miles though, I won’t be there tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but here I go, one foot in front of the other.

                I’m just started off when a bike and a familiar figure pulls up beside me.

                “Baywatch! I’m really glad to see you man! I just heading out of the area right now.” He’s got his bucket of random things hanging from the handlebars of the bike, a tall beer can in the basket with a straw sticking up out of it, and a half-smoked joint of marijuana hanging from his lips.

                “Where y’ goin’ man?”

                “Just north I guess, it’s too ghetto for me here and I’ve been running into trouble at Haulover. I gotta bounce.”

                “Really? Trouble at Haulover?

                “Yea, a few park employees have been on my case about stayin’ there, and the job situation isn’t looking too promising. I’m just ready to move on.” He tells me about some other good parks I might be more comfortable in and also tells me about several soup kitchens that operate on different days of the week and what homeless shelters offer the best services. I have to say I’m impressed. My boy is seriously street-smart! Still, I’ve already committed and on my way out, so I’m not going to change my mind now.

                “Do you know where t’old Monastery is?” He asks me.

                “The thousand-year Spanish Monastery up by Biscayne?”

                “Yea man! That’s t’one. Every Wednesday t’ey give out a free meal t’ere. I’m headed over right now. You should come!”

                “Maybe I will; that sounds good.”

                “I’ll see you t’ere then.” He gives me an imperative index finger with a twinkle in his eye and a wide smile on his large, chiseled jaw. He relights his pot and rolls slowly out ahead of me on his old-fashioned blue bike. This guy is a special case. I wish I had more time to get to know him better.

                I’m contemplating whether I really want to go to the soup kitchen. It will set me back an hour or more, and I was really hoping to make some good progress today. The free lunch would be kind of nice though, and it might give me a chance to hang out with Baywatch a little more. I’d been wanting to see that Spanish monastery too. I’m not in a rush, and this is what the adventure is all about, so I decide to go.

                Twenty minutes later I’m pulling up to the main entrance of the Monestery. There’s a sign for some denomination that still holds weekly services there. I’m guessing they’re the ones running the soup kitchen. As I roll up I can see several other people standing around. I recognize several of them as other homeless people that I’ve seen hanging around the parks and beaches. It’s a motley crowd that’s for sure. Most of them fit the homeless stereotype to a ‘T’. There’s a Caucasian man standing by the doorway looking out over the crowd with an air of authority.

                “Wait ten more minutes.” He tells me. “They are not ready yet.” He speaks with a Spanish accent and I mean from Spain, not Latino. “You can put your things in the garage over there.” He points to a corner behind a couple small palm bushes. I don’t see a garage, but there’s small foot gate so maybe it’s through there. I walk up to the gate and give it a tug, but it doesn’t even wiggle. It’s jammed shut like it’s a permanent fixture. I turn around looking for the Spaniard in confusion.

                “Who can I…” another man standing by helps me out.

                “Just anywhere in this corner here is fine.”

                “He calls this a ‘garage’?” I motion to the open corner behind the balm bushes.

                “Yea.” The man and I laugh at the Spaniard’s version of English. Actually I remember that from Senegal and a little in India as well. In European English a “garage” can be any kind of storage area, even if there isn’t a building or structure of any kind. I park my gear and look around to see if I can find Baywatch. I stop a young black man walking past me. He’s got dreadlocks coming from under his skull-cap and shorts and t-shirt easily double his size.

                “Hey man, do you know Baywatch?” The hoodlum turns his head sideways and leers at me suspiciously. Clearly he knows Baywatch, but I’ve apparently asked a loaded question.

                “Naw, man. Ah don’ know, no Baywatch.” Can you call it lying when it’s this obvious?

                “Yea, he’s a friend of mine, I was just…” Suddenly the hoodlum takes a step straight towards me and stops with his nose two inches from mine.

                “What do you NEEEEEED man??” I fight the impulse to cower back. He’s got a strong odor of beer coming from his yellowed teeth, but I stand my ground and hold position toe-to toe with him. I motion toward the soup kitchen.

                “I was just…” He cuts me off and his shifty eyes get even shiftyer

                “No, what do you NEEEED!” I narrow my eyes and close the two inches down to one.

                “Are you going to let me finish this time?” He shifts his weight backward and almost breaks eye contact. He’s apparently reached the end of his sales pitch, and falls silent. I continue “I was saying, I’m just here because I heard about the free meal.”

                “You sure you don’t want no pot, heroine, koke… anything like that?” He seems a little disappointed.

                “Naw man, I’m not on that scene.”

                “I got whateva’ ya need in ma pockets right here, man! I can hook ya up a deal too!”

                “Fraid not, dude. That’s not my style.”

                “That’s good man! Way to be.” He swings his hand back and comes at me with a ghetto-style handshake. “That’s real good. You clean; I respect that.” That’s not exactly what I pride myself in most of all, but hey, I’ll take compliments where I can get them.

                “Hey,” Suddenly, his shifty eyes narrow again and he leans in close again with his alcoholic breath. “You wanna make some MONEY??” I laugh incredulously.

                “Not THAT kind of money.” I try to be assertive, but he’s trying too.

                “DO YOU WANT TO MAKE SOME MONEY??” He’s not backing down easy, but his temptation is proving inadequate on me.

                “Not that kind of money!” I’m keeping the chummy, light tone with him, but I’m pretty sure my mind is made up about the option of a career as a dope pusher. That’s not exactly how I want to invest in the youth of America. Then again, it might be a quick remedy to the homeless situation.

                “Do you want a job?” He’s not the quickest rodent in the maze.

                “Not that kind of job?”

                “You don’t even have to do nothin’. No money down. No risk. You get me people; I put money in yo pocket!” I just laugh and shake my head.

                “You talkin’ to th’ wrong brutha homie. I’m jus’ not down.” It helps to speak fluently in the native tongue.

                “Aight, man!” He swings his hand out for another exaggerated ghetto handshake, and finishes it with a gansta’ thumb-hook and a fist bump. “You’re cool, man. I like you!” I shrug with an apologetic smile. What can I say. “But hey, if you change yo mind, le’ me know, kay?”

                “Sure man,” I give him another incredulous laugh. “I’ll let you know.”

                By now I’ve seen Baywatch across the parking lot, but they’re calling for us to line up by the soup tables, so everyone migrates over to form a line. Two grown adults are arguing like three-year olds about which one was ahead of the other in line. Both are less than five down from first. I don’t think anyone’s going to starve. The Spaniard shorts it out and steps in front of the mangy assembly gathered at the entrance. With his authoritative, booming voice he calls everyone to order and goes through a few rules for orderly conduct. He mentions some other resources for job placement, shelters, and food pantries and then reads an entry from the “My Daily Bread” devotional. It’s about making our prayers specific rather than vague. I’m not sure it’s the most relevant topic for the gentry at hand, but it beats an episode of the Simpsons, I guess. We finish up by reciting a two-line rhyme that approximates a thanksgiving prayer and a blessing on the food.

                A line of ladies stand behind a folding table and dish out soup and plates with cole-slaw, a McDonalds hamburger, and a boxed slice of pudding pie. At the end of the line they give us a plastic bag with a dozen or so rolls. As I step away from the line the Spaniard approaches me.

                “Are you from up north?” I have no idea how he knew that, but I tell him I am from Maine and that I’m just passing through the area but heard about the soup-kitchen earlier this morning. We chat cordially for a few minutes until he suggests that I take an available seat where I can keep a close eye on my belongings. He’s keenly aware of the kind of crowd we have today. I sit on the stump and polish of the food in short order. It’s all better than I might have expected for a free meal. After a few stragglers come through they offer seconds to finish up the last of the soup, so I get another bowl. When that’s gone, I decide I’d like to tour the thousand-year old monastery, but the entrance fee is 8 bucks. Naw, that would completely cancel out the free meal. I can almost eat for a week on 8 dollars, so I’ll pass on the monastery. I head over to where Baywatch is hanging with some of our fellow bums. He tells me he doesn’t use computers or go online, but when I tell him about my blog he’s still interested in getting the address, so I give him one of the business cards that I had made up. The card impresses him and he asks me to make a personalized and dated autograph out to him on the back of it.

                “You’re like the real-life Forest Gump man! This is going to be worth money some day!” I love this guy!

                With a final good-bye I get back on the road. I’m headed to Wal-Mart to pick up some things there. It’s boiling hot out and I’ve got sweat streaming down my face. I should pick up a small hand-towel to hang from the cart handlebar so that I can wipe sweat from my face. It’s actually burning my eyes right now and making it hard to see. A little more food for the trip wouldn’t hurt either. After locking my cart to a bike rack outside I head in, and twenty minutes of browsing finds me with a cheap bath-towel, and hand towel, a gallon jug of Gatorade, a bag of tangerines, and a pint of ice-cream. Back outside I stow the supplies in my cart. I tuck the bath towel in the back of my jeans to absorb sweat and the hand towel gets lashed to the handlebar. I take a few swigs of the Gatorade and polish off the ice cream. All that’s left now is a long day of trudging through the Florida heat.

                I pass through a couple up-scale neighborhoods. One place has a pink van parked out front labeled as a mobile pet-grooming service. Someone has too much money! The up-scale doesn’t last for long though. When I come out of the neighborhood onto route 441 I’m obviously on the other side of the tracks. I’ll be following this road for the next fifty miles and it looks like it’s going to be ghetto the rest of the way.

                After several hours of walking everything I’ve seen is run-down, falling apart, and old. This area is marked as “Hollywood” on the map. Within a few blocks I pass four adult video stores, more smoke shops and liquor stores than I can count and the biggest casino I’ve ever seen in my life! The place is exploding with brilliant laser lights and lit up fountains and it’s got a humongous megatron TV screen that wraps around three exterior walls of the massive parking garage! I’d like to play a couple rounds of Modern Warfare on that display! Wow! In a town that otherwise looks like East Berlin this casino stands out as a high-tech palace. How do people not realize that all this is paid for by the money they come and lose without getting any product in return? It’s been dark for an hour or two now; normally I’d be looking for a place to spent the night, but even though I’m getting tired and my knees are sore, I’m not interested in sleeping anywhere near this area. The whole city makes my skin crawl! I need to get off my feet for a while though, so a large McDonalds up ahead is a welcome sight. If they’ve got outlets and free wi-fi I’ll park there for a while and do a little blogging while I give my feet a rest.

                Considering the condition of the rest of the town, the McDonalds is a very nice building, clean and spacious. A welcome reprieve.

                “You look like you’ve been walking a long time!” The lady behind the counter looks me over, but I think she saw me leaving my luggage outside too.

                “Yea, I started out in Miami this morning.”
                “You walked all the way from Miami? Wow, that’s a long way! How far are you going?” I have to pull out my phone to double check.

“I’m headed up toward the West Palm Beach area.”

“Wow, that’s a long distance!” I nod agreement and look at the menu options.

                “I’ll take two hamburgers and a tap water please.” As I fish out some cash I pull out one of my cards too and hand it to her. “I write about my travels and stories on this blog here, you can check it out if you’re interested.”

                “Yea, sure!” She takes the card.

                “I’ve been well over two-hundred miles with that pack and cart so far.”
                “That’s amazing!”

                “I’m just going to sit down here and write on my blog for a little while.”
                “Are you going to write about me?”

                “Sure, what’s your name?”

                “Shawn.”

                “Well, I’ll definitely write about you then.” When my burgers are ready, I find a seat next to a power outlet and settle in to write.

                And that brings me to now. It’s 10pm on the nose. My clothes were soaked with sweat when I walked in, but they are mostly dry now. Maybe I can get a fresh outfit and change in the bathroom. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to walk through most of the night and some clean clothes would feel great. The McDonalds doesn’t close till midnight, so I think I’ll just sit right here and rest until then. There’s an extremely drunk man at the counter harassing the cashier. Maybe it’s time I order something more. I step up behind him. He’s swearing and making inappropriate comments at the manager.

                “Excuse me sir, you’re going to have to leave.” She demands. He argues and gripes but doesn’t move. My turn.

                “It’s time to move on man.” He turns on me and lunges forward. I brace myself and lock eyeballs with him. He would have smacked tight into me, but the bill of his baseball cap presses into my forehead and holds our faces apart.

                “What did you say?” I thought the hoodlum had bad breath, but this old man is sloshed out of his mind. He’s leaning his weight against me now and the bill of his hat is digging into my forehead.

                “I said, it’s time to move on.” I repeat myself with the same soft, even tone. The manager looks alarmed by the confrontation and pipes in again.

                “Sir, there’s the door, you’re going to have to leave.” He tries to perform the same lunge at her, but smacks into the counter that she’s standing behind. My turn again

                “They’re going to call the police if you don’t leave.” He lunges back at me and smacks his hat against my forehead again until I’m holding him up by the bill that’s digging into my forehead. I don’t flinch. “I’m trying to help you out here.” I say in a low whisper. “I’m trying to take care of you. You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself have you?” His hard jaw softens, he leans back, and his shoulders droop. He looks like he’s about to start crying.

                “I’m an old man.” His lips quiver. “My life is all spent up.”

                “No it’s not you’ve got plenty of…

                “Sir! You need to leave now!” The manager is getting impatient. He lunges back toward her but he’s already forgotten about that pesky counter that keeps getting in the way. I just stand in front of him and put my arms out like a goalie. He keeps yelling at the manager about how he fought two wars so that she could have a job. I keep in front of him and walk towards the door forcing him backward until he gives up and storms out. Wow, and I thought my excitement was mostly over for the day! When I sit back down I realize I’m shaking from adrenaline. I really was afraid for a minute there that the guy was going to try to sucker-punch me. Drunk or not, he was clearly stronger than me and could have done some damage. It would have made a great blog entry, but I’d really prefer not to get beat up tonight.

                On that note, I think I’ll close up and post this before anything else happens. I’ve had enough for one day. In just over an hour it will be tomorrow, so I’ll save the rest for the next post.

                Here’s a question for the comments section below:
                “How do you handle confrontations?” Be it drunks, drug-pushers, or whatever kind of people try to push in on your space and pressure you to do things their way, what do you find works and what doesn’t work when you respond to that? Tell me about a confrontation you’ve had or how you usually handle people like that.

Dec. 14-19 Moving On

I’m sitting at Dunkin’ Donuts. I’m supposed to be walking, but my phone battery was already down to 60% which isn’t enough to last me the day and I don’t know when I’ll get to recharge again. I wanted to stop in at Dunkin’ one last time anyway, so I might as well, and I’ve just got a short block of time here while my phone is charging. I’ll do my best to fill in the highlights of the last few days.

                The last blog left off with Tuesday evening. I went back to the pavilion in Haulover that night but I was awakened at 2am by a park employee telling me that the park was closed and that if I didn’t leave I would get arrested. I assured him that I’d spoken with other park employees and police officers who had all told me that I had a right to be here and would, in fact, not be arrested. He backed off and left me alone, so I finished out the night, but even if I technically have a right to be there, I’m uncomfortable if I know I’m not welcome. Then, as I was finishing up my breakfast, another park employee pulled up beside the pavilion and told me that the pavilions were only available for rent by reservation and that I needed to use the other picnic tables. This is a fact that is actually clearly posted on signs, so I knew she was completely right about that. The other thing is, she’s an employee who I’ve seen around the park often, so she knows I’ve been making a regular habit of spending the night here, so this was her subtle way of dropping a hint that I need to move on. I don’t want to cause any trouble, so I figured it was time for me to get scarce.

                So I headed back over to the North Beach area on Friday. The next several days were spent sleeping in the patch of trees behind the North Shore library and spending the days in the library waiting to hear back from Indian Creek Country Club. I enjoyed another lovely Sunday at Calvary Chapel Miami Beach.

On Monday I determined that I shouldn’t be wasting time waiting to hear back from Indian Creek, but that I really ought to be applying to other places while I was waiting. So, that day at the library, I started looking up phone numbers for some of the other local golf courses, but I couldn’t bring myself to call any of them. The problem was that I really didn’t want to get hired here. I’m feeling more and more that I just don’t want to be in this area. The trouble I’ve had trying to save money by living homeless, is difficult here because it’s so urban. If I do get a job and try to look for a better living situation, rent in this area is far more than I’d be willing to pay even for the tiniest studio apartment. I give up looking in this area and instead spend the day exploring other areas on Google Earth.

Monday night it was after midnight when I rolled my cart into the patch of trees and I was just about to start setting up my hammock when I noticed several new beer cans around that hadn’t been there that morning. I try to keep the area clean, so that I don’t get blamed for trashing it, and I know I’d left it clean that morning. Then I noticed a man passed out on the ground laying in the dirt right where I usually hang my hammock. I really don’t like the idea of sharing the space with a drunk who’s going to wake up hung-over. If he wakes up before me, I worry that he might try to get into my things and walk off with something.

                “Open Space Park” is nearby. That’s the one with the “No Trespassing” signs where I drank from the fountain that one night and got surrounded by half the police department and questioned for thirty minutes. Also, this late at night all the gates to the park are closed and padlocked, but as an adept homeless bum, I happen to know that there’s no fence on the beach side. It’s late and I’m exhausted, so as much as I don’t like the idea of getting in trouble again, I head over there. I find a couple trees to hang my hammock on and sling it up. I’m going to be very conspicuous when the sun comes up, and likely get a lecture from somebody, but at this point I’m ready for that as long as I can get a few hours of sleep first. Unfortunately the two trees are just a little too close together, so the hammock bunches me very uncomfortably. Also the temperature drops just low enough to be uncomfortable. I doze off a few times but only in short naps and when the sun rises I feel like I haven’t slept at all. Yea, I’m pretty sure I’m ready to relocate out of this area. Ideally, I’d like to find an area that wasn’t already overrun by the kind of homeless people who are homeless because they’re lazy, brain-fried, drunks. I’d prefer an area where I could disappear into some woods at night and not worry about being run off by the authorities or robbed.

                Tuesday night I head back over to Calvary Chapel for the men’s Bible study. It’s good to have a chance to say good bye to several of the friends I’ve made. Renzo, Peter, and Herb have especially been a blessing to me and an encouragement just by treating me with the love and kindness of Christ. We close the meeting with prayer and the men gather around me to lay hands on me and pray for safety, blessings, and provision as I continue on my journey.

                Thankfully there’s no drunk passed out in my spot this night. Sleep has been sparse for several nights in a row now so I’m really looking forward to getting as much rest as I can. I’ve got a little wine left; that should help knock me out for the night so I polish it off and drift away.

                I wake up cold at 4:30. I could try to doze for a couple more hours, but I know it’s not going to be quality sleep. Besides, I’m eager to get an early start walking before traffic picks up. I take my time packing up my sleeping bag in the dark and boiling up a generous pot of oatmeal to get me going. Without ceremony, I’m back on the road. I am passing through Haulover when the sun rises, so as I walk down the beach I watch the orange sun come up out of the Atlantic and separate itself from the water like an upside down droplet of fire. A half hour later I’m passing Dunkin’ Donuts again, and my phone battery isn’t going to last the day, so here I am. While I’ve written this, my battery has fully charged. It’s almost ten. I’m a little out of shape after almost a month of staying in the same area, so I’m not sure how far I’ll get today, but here I go.

Even when I go several days without posting to the blog, I often post updates and details to the Facebook page, so for anyone who isn’t already following my Facebook page that can be seen here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Walkabout-the-Word/121270251358199

Go there and give it a “like” to see up-to-the-minute updates in your newsfeed as well as photos that I upload on the go.

Sunday in North Beach (Video)

Here's a few clips cobbled together from last Sunday. I'm sorry about the excessive wind and background noise, I left my nice camera with the nice microphone in Maine, so I'm using a point-and-shoot camera.

To see the video in a larger screen, you can go see it on YouTube by clicking this link: http://youtu.be/_3uDt7qdj_o

Dec. 10-13 Angela

                I woke up in the hammock on Monday morning a little wet. It had rained during the night. The hammock will wrap all the way over me and close me in like a cocoon, but the nylon isn’t water proof. I’ll have to put a tarp up next time if I’m going to spend any more nights in this spot. Maybe I can explore around the area and find another covered pavilion like the one up in Haulover. The library doesn’t open until 10, so I take my time getting up and fixing breakfast. I can see people walking by on the trail that follows the shoreline down from Open Space park.

                When the library opens I lock my cart and pack to a pole outside and head in. It still isn’t very big, but it’s not as noisy as the other one I visited. I find a spot for my laptop at a table and settle in. After catching up on Facebook and email I watch a TV show to help me build up motivation for some studying. Before long it’s 6. The library is closing and that breakfast wore off a long time ago. It’s just barely getting dark when I step from the air-conditioned library into the muggy evening heat. The night it still young and I’d like to explore this new area a little. I strap on my pack and start pushing my cart, but immediately feel very awkward and out of place. This is a bustling shopping area and I feel self-conscious like this with everyone staring at me. I’m nervous about leaving my things unguarded, but I’d also like to go into these shops and look for a few supplies. I finally lock my cart to a tree and just pray no one disturbs it.

                It does feel great to walk around freely and blend into the crowd of people. This entire street is like a cross between an American mall and an open air market in South America. I step into a grocery store but if feels like I’m in Mexico. The isles are narrow and crowded, the cashiers are singing along to Latino hits on the intercom and half the products are labeled in Spanish. Cool!!! I get myself a pint of chocolate ice cream and head back out onto the street. I eat the ice cream with a plastic spoon and continue down the strip of shops. A few miles south the shops thin out to residences. From Google maps, I recognize the southern end of the trail that runs past my camping spot, so I get on it and walk back up along the beach. When I get back up to the library I find my things as I left them and wheel it over to my little seaside patch of trees. It’s breezy and warm, and feels like it could rain again tonight. Honestly, it randomly showers anytime without warning, so I really ought to be prepared regardless of what the sky looks like. I’m tempted to just sleep uncovered in the hammock like before, but even if it doesn’t rain tonight, I don’t want to wait and try to figure out a rain-shelter solution some night in the middle of a downpour. I really should try to figure this out now and be prepared. Once the hammock is set up I pull out my small tarp and fold it over the top and hook weights into the grommets to hold the bottom down. It looks like a blue sheet folded in half over a clothesline. It definitely isn’t an elegant solution; I’m not sure it’s even a solution. The wind is blowing in sporadic gusts and the whole thing flaps loudly and wildly in the wind. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to sleep inside that or even if it would keep the rain out if it did rain. I climb in and try to sleep but the contraption I’ve rigged up flaps around violently in the wind and makes a lot of noise. The weights holding down the bottom corners occasionally swing around in the wind and hit me in the face. I pull out my phone and read an e-book for a few hours hoping to get tired. When I go back to trying to sleep it still isn’t working. It’s 3am when I finally decided to try something different. When I turn the tarp to an angle, the corners reach further so that I get better coverage in case of rain and then I tie down the other two corners with ropes so that they don’t make so much noise and whip against the hammock. This makes a sort of diamond-shaped tent over the hammock. It still makes a lot of noise in the wind, but not nearly as much as before and it’s a lot more stable. Before long I’m fast asleep and when I wake up again a few hours later I’m in the middle of a sudden torrential downpour. I lay there with a large grin staring up through the blue tarp at the heavy drops of rain beating down at me and streaming harmlessly in serpentine rivulets. The heavy shower only lasts a few minutes, but it’s enough that it would have soaked me through if I hadn’t gone to the trouble of setting up the tarp. Thank you Lord! I curl back up in the hammock and sleep like a rock well into Tuesday’s daylight.

                Tuesday is spent mostly in the library again, but I make an effort to study more and waste less time. When the library closes at 6, I head across the street to the market where I bought the ice-cream yesterday. I haven’t eaten since breakfast again, so I try out the rice bar and get a large serving of Spanish rice, with chicken, and mashed potatoes. It comes in a foam tray and even as hungry as I am it’s more than I can finish at once. Besides, the men’s Bible study is starting at 7:00 over at the church and I’ve been looking forward to that, so I better get walking. I stash the remaining rice in my pack and make the short trip across the island to the Calvary Chapel.

                I find several men standing around and talking inside the church. I recognize one guy who I saw on Sunday and he tells me his name is Renzo. The men’s class is going through a video series on financial management. Considering I live mostly hand-to-mouth the investment and budgeting advice is mostly lost on me but several principles still apply. After the video we get into an engaging discussion about tithing in the New Testament age. As people say good-night and disperse for the night I meet the group leader, Herb, and talk with him for a few minutes. He's not actually the usual leader, but Carl is away tonight and asked Herb to fill in. He's a bubbly personality with beaming joy. He listens with amazement as I tell about my journey and the places I’ve been. He’s shocked when he learns I’m sleeping outdoors.

“Stay here a second!” He says and disappears into the next room. When he comes back he’s got Renzo in tow. “Renzo, has some extra space and can put you up for the night.”

“Thanks, that’d be great! I appreciate it.”

“It won’t be very comfortable,” Renzo tells me, “but you’ll be inside.” Renzo doesn’t have a car so Herb offers to give us a ride over to Renzo’s apartment. There isn’t room for my cart and pack. I’m worried about leaving it here outside the church all night, but that’s the only option. I pull out my computer bag to take with me and stuff a night-bag inside. At least if my stuff gets stolen, I’ll still have a computer and a toothbrush.

The leader drops us off at the base of one of the high-rise apartment towers. We’re probably 20 floors up when we get off and walk down the hall to Renzo’s door. His apartment is a tight bedroom with a bathroom and a closet. It’s already past his bed time and he has to be up by 5 to allow time for him to get to his job in the morning, so we waste little time getting to sleep. He offers me a sleeping bag to roll out on the floor.

The alarm goes off at 5 and I roll up the sleeping bag. Renzo escorts me down to the lobby and gives me directions back to the church. It’s still night and the city isn’t awake yet as I make the trip back praying my things are still where I left them. Within a half hour I see the church and find my things undisturbed. Well, at least undisturbed by people. A family of little ants has found my leftover rice and my cart is filled with millions of them. I was really looking forward to finishing that Spanish rice! It’s not like the ants have actually damaged anything, and I’m sure I wouldn’t notice the difference if I could get past them mentally… I scoop most of them out and dig in. I was right, there’s no noticeable difference and it really doesn’t bother me to think that there might be a tiny ant or two mixed in there. Lots of people enjoy ants on purpose, why should I let a few little ones keep me from that delicious Spanish rice that I paid $4 for? No good reason. All my other food is packaged or Zip-locked, so nothing else is disturbed even though the cart is swarming with ants.

I stand there in the early-morning darkness for several minutes trying to decide what to do. It’s not even 6am yet. I’m still pretty tired; that was a short night, but I don’t really feel like it’s worth going back and setting up my hammock. The library doesn’t open until noon today. I’m thinking I’d really like to look up some new Greek study material online, but I’m not sure if it’s worth waiting around till noon. Most of all right now I'm just tired, so I walk over to North Shore Open Space Park and find a secluded picnic table and lay down on the bench. It’s not exactly comfy but I still snooze for several hours. I wake to someone thumping my boot. It’s a cop. He’s pulled his cruiser up beside the picnic table and he’s staring down at me. I snap awake and sit up quickly trying not to sound hung-over.

“Good morning sir!”

“Good morning there. Everything alright here?”

“Yes sir, I was just kickin’ back for a break.”

“Sure, sure, I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. When we see people laying down we just like to make sure everything is cool and that they’re alive. Sometimes we find people out here dead of a heart attack or something like that. You have an ID on you?”

“Yes sir, right here.” I fish around for my wallet and hand him my license.

“This is my zone, so I just like to get to know people.”

“Absolutely, I appreciate you guys looking out for us.” He eyes the trim and tidy photo on my license and looks back at the disheveled hobo before him.

“When were you born?”

“September 20th, eighty-three” I answer without hesitation. I know he’s was watching to see if I had to think about it. Just making sure I’m the same guy in the picture. He writes down the info on his notepad and walks back to his cruiser to look up my rap-sheet. When he’s satisfied, he says goodbye with a wave and drives off. If you’re running from the law, I don’t recommend going homeless. I think I’ve been questioned at least six times now.

I get a little more to eat out of my cart and head back to the library where I split the day studying and entertaining myself. It’s dark again when they close at 8:00. I eat some more as I decide what to do. I’ll want to be back down here in Miami Beach next Sunday for church again, but I don’t really have any other reason to stay here until then. I’d kind-of rather not bother with setting up the tarp again tonight, and I’m missing Haulover and my friends at Dunkin’ Donuts, so I decided to head back up that way tonight. There are fewer people at this late hour and the cooler night air makes it easier to cover the long walk without needing to stop for breaks. It’s hardly been more than an hour when I roll up to my familiar pavilion again. I eat again and roll out my pad on the bench. There’s no wind at all tonight and there’s some kind of insect taking advantage of it. It’s the kind of bug we would call “mingies” up in Maine; those tiny little things you can barely see without a microscope but with a bite like fire. My ankles and wrists seem to be their favorite. I sleep in short naps between bites till morning.

It doesn’t feel like Thursday when I wake up, but it is. I eat again. That seems to be turning into a regular habit. I’ve got a full battery on the laptop, so I pull it out and work on a little more study. I’ve been listing and comparing proof texts side-by-side for Calvinism and Armenianism. Give me a day or two, and I’m sure I’ll have this centuries-old debate completely put to rest. It’s nearing noon when my batteries are getting low and I’d like to get out on the beach again. I pack everything up and roll it all over to the beach access path. My crumpled old printout of the first few paragraphs from Romans keeps me entertained for the first several hours as I walk up and down the beach. After a while I can say quite a few verses without looking and I’m ready for something else, so I pull out a fresh pack of Greek verbs and spend several more hours strolling the beach with them. There’s plenty of cloud-cover today, so hopefully I don’t burn this time. When there’s only a few hours of daylight left I decided to head over to Dunkin’s.

I find Nichole smiling behind the counter. I had thought Theresita was going to be working today, but I find out she has transferred to another store and doesn’t work here anymore. )-: I’ll miss her. My spot on the comfy chair is taken so I settle down at a table and order a medium coffee. I notice an elderly lady is turning sideways in her chair and is staring intently at me… strange. I get up to use the restroom and when I walk back I notice she’s staring intently at me again. As I walk by she raises her hand timidly and stops me. Her voice is trembling and she speaks with a heavy Italian accent.

“You look exactly like my son.” She’s speaking in a barely audible tone and struggling with her words. “Your hair, and face and colors…” she touches her face as she speaks. “He would have been 47 this year, but he died many years ago…” Her voice cracks and there are tears in her eyes.  “What’s your name?”

“I’m Aaron, what’s yours?” I slide into the chair opposite from her.

“My name is Angela.”

“I’m very sorry about your loss.” I’m not sure what else to say to comfort this bereaved mother, but all she needs me to do is sit there as she looks into my face trembling and seeing the son she has lived without for all these years. She struggles to tell me about him, but finds it hard to speak and hold back tears at the same time. A man steps up and puts two coffees on the table, so I get up to give him his seat back. I give the mother the most comforting smile I know how to give and go back to my computer. I’ll have that image stuck in my mind for a long time of the trembling old mother struggling to hold back tears and looking deep into my face but seeing someone else she had not seen in many years.

I start writing this until closing time. I’ll head over to Win-Dixie from here. Maybe I can find a can of bug-spray to keep those mingies off me tonight. Hopefully there’s a breeze. I might grab a few groceries too, and then it’s back to the pavilion for the night.

Dec. 9 Goldilocks Church

                I it was broad daylight when I woke up on Sunday morning. It’s already sweltering hot and muggy. Last night I was looking online for a church nearby and I found a Calvary Chapel down in the North Beach area. That’s a bit far for walking, almost twice as far as the Indian Creek golf club, but I found out this week that I can ride the city busses even with my cart. I’d assumed I couldn’t, but Nichole said they would let me, so I tried it and they let me on! It’s two dollars to get on, so I’ll save it for the longer trips, but that should get me down to the church this morning.

                After a quick breakfast I head over to the bus stop. There’s a large, broad-shouldered man waiting with a small nylon backpack, a Hawaiian shirt, and greying day-old stubble.

                “Yo man, you sleepin’ out here too?” He’s got a slight New York flavor in his tone.

                “Yea, I’ve been here a week or so.”

                “Where you from?”

                “Maine, most recently.”

                “Gettin’ away from th’ cold, right? You and me both man! I’m almos outa mony tho…” He continues with the saga of his vacation down here from upstate New York. He swings his arms wildly as he talks and gestures with loud, aggressive hand motions that don’t make any sense, and he shrugs his shoulders repeatedly the whole time. Living on the street like this will make you feel like the last un-retarded person on earth.

                The bus pulls up. He climes on ahead of me and starts feeding his dollar bills into the machine while I wait on the sidewalk.

                “Hey!” The bus driver is leaning around the man and calling out to me. “You can’t get on here with that.” He points to the cart.

                “The other drivers let me on…”

                “Well that’s their problem but it’s against the rules.” He closes the door in my face and drives off. Shoot! Another bus driver might let me on, but it will be another 15 to 20 minutes, so I might as well start walking just in case the bus doesn’t work out. Within minutes my flannel shirt is soaked in sweat and I can barely keep my glasses clear from the sweat dripping from my hair. I’ll definitely have to change my shirt and clean up when I arrive at the church. Fifteen minutes later I’m twenty feet from a bus stop when the bus comes by. I’m hurrying to get to it, but it drives off again without me. Wow, I hope I don’t end up walking the whole way! I started at 8:00 and the first service doesn’t start until 9:30, so that would have been plenty of time on the bus, but if I end up walking the whole way, I’ll definitely miss the first service. There’s three services, so I’ll make it one way or another, but I didn’t refill my water before I left, so my supply is low and with the morning sun beating on my face I’m losing water in buckets. I sure hope this isn’t the morning I’m destined to meet anyone special.

                Two hours later, I’ve passed Indian Creek and given up on trying to get a bus. At least I saved my two dollars, I’ll put it in the offering, but that’s quite a church commute! The first service is already started, but I’ll be a half hour early for the second service. I’m within the northern area of Miami Beach now, and it’s definitely nicer than the Haulover area. There’s a better variety of shops and things are cleaner and better kept. After two and a half hours of walking I find the building. Around the back side, I lock my cart and pack to a steel grate and switch into a try t-shirt. Just inside the front entrance two men greet me with handshakes and a well-designed bulletin. They give me directions down the hall to a café while I wait for the next service to start. Passing down the hall, I can see classrooms filled with children in Sunday School. The café is a large, brightly-lit room with mirrors on the walls and people sitting around talking over pastries and drinks. This is nice! It’s bright, warm, and inviting. Someone knew what they were doing! Two lovely young ladies are behind the counter selling coffee and food. I order a cup of Joe and they give me friendly, helpful directions to the cream and sugar. I sit down at a small table on the wall and sip it while I watch the people engaged in conversations around the room. They’re all happy and friendly, and they’re dressed like normal people. The atmosphere feels natural and genuine, not strained or artificial like many churches.

                Within minutes, a man breaks off and introduces himself to me as Ernie. He’s greying and a little heavy-set, but full of joy and love for others. I overheard him talking earlier about how he used to be addicted to drugs and in prison and how he ministers now to help people get out of that scene. He tells me more about how he came to this church several years ago in pretty rough shape, but now works on church staff counseling and working with ex-cons like himself. When he hears about my job search, he gives me several tips for local resources, and invites me to the Tuesday night Bible study. I’m actually really looking forward to that! Before long, he excuses himself and heads over to someone else who just walked into the room. Within minutes another staff member, the youth pastor I think, sees me and comes across the room to introduce himself. It’s JP, if I remember right. Anyway, it’s two initials. He’s older than me but not by much and full of energy; within minutes I feel like he’s an old friend, but it’s time for the service to start.

                The auditorium is also well lit and inviting. The music is comfortable and modern. The worship team starts up with a few praise courses as more people come in. There’s a broad variety of blacks, whites, Latinos, and others. There’s also a spread of ages from young adults to the elderly. Half-way through the first chorus I’ve got tears in my eyes. This is so much better! I feel welcome, safe, and at-ease. When the pastor steps onto the platform he greets everyone with a warm welcome and starts into a few announcements. He’s probably somewhere between 40 & 50, but in very good physical shape and adept with communicating naturally to an audience. After the announcements he directs us to 1 Timothy 3. He’s working through the book apparently and this week places him in a difficult, controversial passage where Paul lays out the qualifications for church leadership. I’m impressed by how he holds a strong line about the expectations for God’s people, but does so with awareness, tact, and sensitivity to the modern difficulties of our culture. We wrap up with a prayerful worship song and the service is over.

                I head back to the café to refill my coffee cup and get a slice of the cheese cake they’re giving out. Ernie is still there and we talk again for a few more minutes. I think I’d actually like to go back to the 12:30 service! It’s a repeat of the same songs and message, but I just love the environment. If I stay in this area, I’m definitely looking forward to coming back to this church, and hopefully getting involved or helping out somehow.

                I have to think about what to do next. They have a Spanish service at 7:00 and I’d really like to go to that, but if I do, I need to find something to do in the area until then because I’m not making the two and a half hour trip back to Haulover only to come back tonight. Normandy Shores Golf course is nearby, and that would be a good place to look for a job, so I decide to head over there to see what I can find out. I hadn’t considered this area, yet since it was too far outside the radius of where I’d been looking, but with a nice neighborhood like this and such a great church, I can definitely see myself relocating to this area! Normandy Shores is also a privately owned island golf course. There isn’t a security gate but there’s a sign saying that only residents are allowed on the island. Oh well, I wasn’t expecting to get anywhere today anyway. I’ll find the phone number online and go that route this time instead of trying to walk out over and over again. The next things I want to check out is a library Ernie told me about. I’m there in about 20 minutes, but it’s closed for Sunday. I kind of expected that, but at least I know where it is and it definitely looks nicer than the tiny crowded library in Sunny Isles!

                With that, I decide to give up on the Spanish service and head back to Haulover for the night. If I can get on a bus I’ll go to Dunkin’ Donuts for the evening and write about this awesome day. The schedule “S” bus that I need is just pulling up to the stop in front of the library, so I get in line and pull two dollars out of my wallet.

                “Hey, I already told you, you can’t get on the bus with that!” It’s the same driver I ran into this morning! Shoot! What are the chances? It will be a while before the next bus shows up so I might as well start walking again. I REALLY hope I don’t have to walk all the way back! I notice a small park behind the library that wasn’t on the map. It separates the library from the beach. I guess I might as well check it out. There’s a path way going down to the beach and a paved jogging trail that runs parallel to the shore. There’s also several clusters of the sea-grape trees around. One of them makes a lovely little secluded shelter from the sun. My wheels are turning now. I could hang my hammock in that little patch of trees. It’s a decent place to spend the night, and tomorrow I can use the library all day! Then I’ll still be in the area for Bible study on Tuesday night, and if Indian Creek ever calls back I’m closer to them here than I am at Haulover. And this way I can go to the Spanish service tonight! Sweet! It looks like I might be relocating to this area!

                I haven’t had much to eat since breakfast so the first order of business is to get some food in me but then I go about setting up the hammock. My cousin Seth gave it to me when I was in Pennsylvania (The same one who gave me the camping stove, he’s clearly done plenty of back-packing before and knows how to find top-notch gear!). It’s made of lightweight nylon so it stuffs into a little pouch the size of a large potato, but it holds me up without a problem and it’s quite comfy. I’ve got the whole afternoon until the Spanish service at 7:00, so I do a lot of relaxing as well as reading and going through my Greek vocabulary flash cards.

                It’s starting to get dark by the time I decide to pack up and head over to the church. I find the pastor and a Latino lady standing out front and they greet me warmly. The pastor recognizes me from this morning. I try some of my rusty Spanish on the lady and explain that I studied in high-school and had many Spanish-speaking friends in college, so I’m hoping to continue working on it. I’m even impressed at myself by how much of it comes back as soon as I start hearing it again. My biggest problem has been switching out of French-mode since I’ve been studying that for the last few years. The worship team is made up of mostly the same people. The leader is obviously not a native speaker, but it’s impressive to see that he’s clearly been making a serious effort to learn the language so that he can reach out to his community. I notice that the bulletin is the exact same as this morning’s except everything is translated into Spanish. There’s a small group of about 30 when the service starts. They begin with a familiar chorus that I remember learning in Chile and I still remember the chorus well enough to sing without looking at the words.

                I’m surprised when I see the pastor step up to give the message. I had assumed they would have a different speaker, but he’s apparently the one. Apparently the church leadership has been working hard to learn Spanish and begin outreach to the Spanish-speaking people in the area. He has to mostly read the sermon from his iPad and he struggles with a little of the pronunciation, but it's impressive that he’s doing it at all! It’s the same message as this morning, so that helps me follow along better. I had been strongly considering trying to find a Spanish church in the area, but I wasn’t sure if I would understand enough to be fed, but if I stay in this area I can get both English and Spanish in the same church! This is better than I’d thought to pray for! I understand almost the whole message without much difficulty and when I talk with the others after the service I find more and more vocabulary coming back to me.

                Now I really hope I get work in this area! I’d love to live here and go to this church. Back down by the beach I sling up my hammock again. If I’m going to relocate here, I’ll have to figure out some new issues. The patch of trees doesn’t provide shelter from rain like the pavilion does, so I’ll either need to find a better spot or hassle with a tarp or something. I also miss the concrete floor and the picnic tables. This sandy ground is littered with trash and I don’t want to put anything down. I’m sure there’s been homeless people stepping into these trees and peeing, so I can’t let my things touch the ground. I’ll have to do some exploring around the area and see if I can’t turn up a better place to spend the night, but this will do for now and I’m feeling much more encouraged!

Oh! And something else! I was talking with a man at the church earlier today who works for the Miami-Dade county parks & recreation department. He told me that legislation has recently passed that forbids park rangers or cops from removing homeless people from public land unless they can provide another place to stay! That’s very encouraging news! The lady driving everyone off Haulover the other night definitely had her info wrong. (I thought so!) Now I can sleep in peace without worrying about getting run off!

With a little more to eat and few gulps of the water that I refilled at the church, I settle back into the hammock for a restful night in the ocean breeze.

I'll close up with a question: What are two or three things you look for the most in a church and what is one thing that really makes you want to leave a church? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comment box below, and if you read the blog in your email, you can load the web page by clicking HERE and enter your comment at the bottom of the page. It's optional of course, but I'd be interested to hear how some of you feel about choosing a church.

Dec. 7 Nagging Doubts and Fears

                Determination is the first thing on my mind this Friday morning. I spun my wheels a lot yesterday and didn’t get much of anything accomplished. I don’t feel bad about taking advantage of a rest day after running around so much previously, but today I’m determined to be a little more self-motivated. The entire purpose of this trip has been to give myself free time, but it won’t work if I don’t take advantage of it. Breakfast is a banana, a Snickers bar, and a pot of instant oatmeal. That should get me going.

                I walk over to the beach and leave my things at the edge taking just my Bible down to the edge of the surf. Soon I have my highlighters spread out on the sand beside me and I’m working through the Gospel of Matthew. I’ve got a highlighting system I’ve been using in my Bible since high school. Commands get colored in green; examples to follow are orange; bad examples, prohibitions, and warnings are red; promises and words of comfort get blue; and other general things that stand out to me get the yellow marker. I also use a fine point pen to underline or circle, and I put a star over the verse number wherever I see an example of the “greatest commandment.” I started highlighting this Bible when I got it half way through my time in India, so most of the New Testament and many passages in the Old Testament look like someone put a rainbow through a paper shredder, but it helps me pay attention to what I’m reading and also find specific types of content faster. After a while of that I pull out a passage of Romans that I’ve been trying to memorize for two years now. It’s not such a long passage, but I never get very far before life gets distracting and I forget about it, so I’ve probably forgotten and re-memorized the first 20 verses over and over again. In a moment of strong motivation I had decided that I was going to memorize the entire book of Romans. I carefully outlined and printed the first two paragraphs, and I still have that original print-out. It’s crumpled, stained, and torn, but still readable and still not memorized. At this rate I’ll have the whole book committed to memory by my 600th birthday. For several hours I walk up and down the beach reading the lines and trying to say them without looking. Memorizing has never been easy for me, but I never feel like I really “feel” the meaning of a passage until I have studied it to the point where I don’t have to look at the words. Eventually I decide it’s time to get out of the sun for a while. I’m as white as a sheet of paper, so I have to be careful.

                Someone else is sitting in my pavilion, (How dare they!) so I roll down to the next one. It’s time for a break from Romans, besides, that’s in English. The Bible wasn’t originally written in English, and I’d really prefer to be studying the Greek. I took biblical Greek classes in college. I’ll never forget how excited I was the first day of class! I was going to learn the original language of the New Testament! Within a couple weeks the excitement had turned to overwhelmed discouragement. I miserably failed the class that semester and when I re-took it next semester I BARELY passed with great difficulty. I wasn’t going to give up easily though; I went right ahead into second semester Greek and repeated it three times without coming close to passing. I’ve never given up though. Someday I’m going to speak Greek like a native and memorize the Bible in its original language. I’m determined enough that I took all my vocabulary flash cards with me, so I sit down at a picnic table and fish them out from the bottom of my cart. There are hundreds of them and I have hardly looked at them in years, but this is why I’m here and not back in my old life. Several packs of cards are looped onto rings, so I pull out a pack of nouns and begin flipping through. It’s encouraging that I can still remember the English definition for about 90% of the words.

A crow lands on a nearby table and eyes me suspiciously. I reach into my cart for a handful of instant oatmeal and toss it onto the concrete floor. As I go back to flipping through my Greek cards he inches closer and begins picking up the pieces without taking his eyes off me. When I move too quickly he flies away, but always comes back later for more.

By mid-afternoon I go back to the beach and continue flipping through the Greek vocabulary cards as I walk up and down the stretch of sand. It’s crowded here today; probably well over a thousand people are spread out tanning and socializing in umbrella villages.

Jamie, my sister in law calls and it’s lovely to hear her voice. She’s always very encouraging and fun to talk to, so I completely lose track of time. When she has to say goodbye I realize I’ve been in the sun a little too long. It’s not a bad, deep burn, but I’ll be a little sore for a day or two. Oh well, I might as well get my base tan on. I’m getting hungry anyway and it’s nearly sunset, so I head back to the pavilion and get myself something to eat. As I munch on trail-mix, another crow drops by and eyes me carefully, so I toss out another handful of oatmeal, and open my Bible on the picnic table for a little more reading when a familiar figure rolls by on a bike and then turns back toward me.

I haven’t mentioned Baywatch before. When I first met him I didn’t realize he would be significant, but there’s more to this guy than you would expect. I first met him one night as I was leaving Dunkin’ Donuts. I was waiting for a break in traffic to cross the street and he pulled up beside me on his old-fashioned bicycle with tattered grocery bags and a re-used detergent bucket hanging from the rusty handlebars. He’s a tall, skinny black man with a strong Haitian jaw and a worn but happy face. Probably around fifty, but in good condition. He greeted me, asked my name, and introduced himself.

“My name is Baywatch. I look after t’beaches of t’world goin’ aroun’ weavin’ these baskets. I don’t live in this world. I seen you over on t’beach t’other day where you sleepin on t’picnic table. You won’ have no trouble with me long as you pick up your trash and respect t’beaches. So, who looks after t’beaches?” He pauses and waits for me to answer his question. I realize he’s checking to see if I remember his name.

“Uhhh…” I don’t.

“Baywatch” he repeats and rides off with a wave. At the time, I just figured he was one of the local kooks. In a way he is, but I hadn’t heard the last of Baywatch yet. A few days later I was whipping up a little breakfast for myself as I watched the sunset and a man came walking by the pavilion on the trail. He was an obese man with a lumbering gait punctuated by heavy breathing and he was carrying two armloads of luggage including small duffels, some carry-on sized suitcases, and a loose, unfolded sleeping bag. When he saw me he turned toward the pavilion and set his things on the first table.

“Hey, you got a phone I can borrow?”

“Uh…” I’m always hesitant, but this poor creature is clearly in need of help. “Sure, here you go.” As he takes it he’s telling me about some run-in he just had with someone. It’s hard to follow what he’s saying, he’s not exactly coherent, but he’s clearly furious at someone and using all the most offensive profanity and racial slurs in his colorful description. He sits down at a table, dials a number, and turns his complete and un-mitigated wrath into the virgin microphone of my unsuspecting little android.

“I want you to know that you are the most miserable piece of…” he continues for several minutes, but I won’t write any more of what he says. It’s the most vile and hateful string of profane insults I’ve ever heard in my life! And I haven’t exactly been living under a rock. My poor phone is used to hearing Bible preaching and happy music, but it’s going to need counseling after this! I’ve known this man for two minutes and I’m already so sick of him I’m ready to puke! I really just want to go over there and take my poor, innocent phone right out of his grubby hands and tell him to get his smelly chins out of my sight. From now on I’m going to ask for a reason before I let anyone borrow my phone! Who knows what he’s just gotten me involved in! Finally he runs out of nasty things to say and waddles over to give the phone back to me. It feels shocked and frightened in my hand. The man resumes complaining to me about this person he ran into. From what I can understand of his rant, he’s homeless too but got mistreated this morning by someone who didn’t want him around. He says the man called himself Baywatch! I try not to laugh. Baywatch, hu? I wonder if this dude was leaving trash around. He must not have been “respectin’ t’beaches.” I really can’t wait for him to get out my sight, but he’s standing there spewing his hatred. Finally I put my hand up in his face.

“Hey! I think I’ve heard enough negativity for one day!” He’s surprised, but from the icy glare I’m giving him he gets the message and waddles off with all his loose luggage under his arms. It’s hard to feel sorry for stupid, ignorant people who bring hard times on themselves, but he’s a pathetic figure. Somewhere deep inside he’s a little boy filled with fear and pain, but the shell of anger and hatred keeps him destitute, alone, and unloved. I pray the rest of his day goes better.

So, all that happened several days ago. I didn’t mention either encounter with Baywatch or tubby because I run into fellow bums like this regularly without much reason to include them in the narrative. But as I’m sitting there this evening, Baywatch rolls by on his bike and swings around into the pavilion to where I’m sitting.

“Hello Mr. Baywatch.” I greet him but he’s intently fishing for something in the duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder. He pulls out two canned hams and compares them for a second before putting one back in his bag and handing me the other.

“Wow, thanks! I appreciate that.” He looks at my bag of instant oatmeal that’s still sitting on top of my cart from when I threw some out for the crow earlier.

“Is that wheat germ?” he asks as he gives the large Ziploc bag a poke with his long finger.

“Uh, no, it’s instant oatmeal actually.”

“Can I have some?”

“Sure!”

“Hold, on. I’ve got another bag here somewhere.” He dives into his sea green duffel again and comes out with a wrinkled old sandwich-sized Ziploc bag which I fill with as much oatmeal as will fit. This stuff is cheap, and he just gave me a canned ham, so I’m certainly not going to be stingy!

“So how do you eat this?” he asks as he takes the bag of rolled grain and eyes it curiously.

“Just a little hot water is all you need.”

“Cool” He goes back to shuffling through his duffel bag and the old detergent bucket hanging from his handle bars.

“You got your good book with you there.” He points to the Bible open in front of me on the table. “That’s good.” “I seen your stuff over by t’Dunkin’ Donuts place.”

“Yea, I go over there a lot.”

“It’s right next door to Miller’s Ale house. I get good tips there. Hey you need any sugar? I got a ton of sugar.”

 “Um, yea, actually, I was just starting to run low on sugar.” He hands me a large plastic can of coarse grain sugar and I refill my supply. While he goes back to looking through his things.

“How about chocolate?” He holds up a Ziplock full on M&Ms.

“I’ve actually got some chocolate here, so I think I’m all set. Thanks though!” He nods, and stuffs his things back into place and slings the duffel bag back over his shoulder.

“You smoke pot?”

“No, not really.”

“That’s inside my religion.” He smiles mischievously, and continues mumbling but I can’t really tell if he’s talking to me or himself. He swings a leg over the bike and rides slowly away without a goodbye. Baywatch is definitely a special case, but he’s a friend and a good guy. I hope I see him around more.

My phone is nearly dead. I usually recharge it at Dunkin’ Donuts, but for the first time since I got here, I haven’t gone there today. There’s a single exterior outlet on the lifeguard headquarters building nearby, so I go plug it in and sit with my back against the building. The sun has just set and there’s a steady stream of people coming off the beach and headed across the street to the parking lot. A familiar lady pulls her ranger truck to a stop nearby. I’ve often seen her driving around in a golf cart or other park vehicles. She calls out to some three young men walking past.

“Gentlemen, the park and beach are closed after sunset!” There’s a firmness in her voice.

“Yea, we’re just leaving.” They answer. I’m not sure what her problem was, they were clearly walking toward the parking lot, but that’s more than I can say for myself.

“Excuse me sir!” She’s barking at me now. “The park and beach are closed after sunset. It’s time for you to head home.” I jump up, grab my charger out of the wall and walk away, but I’m confused. All the other parks in the area have clearly marked signs saying that they are closed from sunset to sunrise, but there are no such signs on this park. They all say the beach is closed after sunset, but I’ve gotten pretty comfortable around the park because it seemed to me that access was intentionally left open after dark. I was very fortunate and blessed to find this place the first night I got here. I’ve been here well over a week now and seen most of the surrounding area. There really is not a single other decent place where I could spend the night. I guess I took this spot for granted, but suddenly this lady is driving around running people off! Suddenly I feel homeless. I feel like a vagrant; an unwanted bum. My head is spinning. I’m just not sure what to do.

I walk back to the pavilion, zip up my cart and hoist the heavy pack over my shoulder. I’ve got no idea where I’m going, but suddenly I feel unwelcome here. I’ve got my doubts that she’s even correct. All the signs say that the beach is closed at sunset, but I’ve never seen anything indicating that I’m not supposed to be on the rest of the park. Why is she doing this? Other maintenance and lifeguard people have been around as I’ve slept under the pavilion and hung around for over a week now. I’m sure I’ve become a familiar sight with my large orange pack and bright yellow cart. Everyone has been so nice to me I was starting to take it for granted that I was free to stay here as much as I liked. As I walk the trail down the length of the park, I’ve got a knot in my stomach. I really just want to wait until she finishes her rounds so that I can go right back. It’s pretty conspicuous in the pavilion though, maybe there’s someplace I can sleep without being seen. I can’t sleep on the ground though; I’ve seen snakes and cockroaches here, and there’s plenty more wildlife I’d rather not see too closely. The tent is brightly colored and would definitely draw negative attention, so that’s not an option here. The hammock would need a couple strong trees but would also be conspicuous and likely to get me in trouble here.

The lady went the other way, but I know there isn’t an outlet on that side of the park so she’ll be coming back this way. I see the truck pass me down on the beach, but up ahead she turns back onto the road and heads toward me. I swing my cart and march swiftly up a side trail toward the edge of the park. I feel like a fugitive. She’s blaring the horn repeatedly as she drives around the park. I’m nearly to the edge of the park when I see her head back to the other side of the island where the maintenance department is. Maybe she’s done, so I head back toward the pavilion. I simply don’t have anywhere else to go! Along the way, I see headlights coming up behind me and I duck into the bushes. This really stinks! I’ve been perfectly comfortable here for over a week and suddenly I feel like I’m out on the lam!

Back at the pavilion I tuck my things lower than usual so that they’re less visible among the picnic tables. Suddenly, I’m thinking differently than I have been. Having this park as a resource, made a big difference, but if I have to worry about getting kicked out, that changes everything. I came here thinking that the nearby forestry reserve would be a potential place to disappear. But it’s thickly overgrown everglades with swamps and crocs, so I’d be likely to disappear for good in there! Besides, it’s restricted to campers and could get me in serious trouble, so I’m definitely not going to be doing that! I’m hoping that if I get the job at this golf course I might be able to get away with spending the night somewhere on that private island, but if they’re going to have a problem with that I could be in a serious bind! Back at the pavilion, I roll out my pad and sleeping bag, and crawl inside, but it’s going to be a long night. I’ve been sleeping comfortably an hour or two past sunrise each morning, but tonight I sleep fitfully and keep jolting awake with the feeling that someone is after me. As I lay waiting for morning, I’m wondering if I should just forget about the job, pack up, and head somewhere else. Maybe I could find someplace further north outside the cities where it’s easier to slip away at night. If I don’t get the job, that will answer my question, but if they offer it to me I wonder if I should turn it down? I hate this feeling of uncertainty, fear, and insecurity. Hopefully, the picture will be clearer in my mind when the sun comes back around. But that’s still a few hours away…

Dec. 5 Uploading Woes

                I woke up cold and sore Wednesday morning, but it was my own fault. I hadn’t bothered to roll out my pad and sleeping bag and I’d just slept on the wood planks.  I still got sufficient sleep, so I’m honestly debating whether the additional comfort is worth the minutes it takes to lay out and pick up the pad and sleeping bag.

                I don’t really have anything pressing to do today, so I’m at a bit of a loss. I might hear back from Indian Creek today, but I doubt they will call me that soon. After burning a pot of oatmeal I cook up a second one for breakfast. Anytime I try to cook anything I generally have to do it twice like that. It’s how I roll. One for the squirrels, one for me. That’s also why I try to buy groceries that come ready to eat.

I pull my laptop out on the picnic table and work on one of my philosophy papers until the battery runs low. I guess I might as well head on over to Dunkin’ Donuts for the day. It’s going to be a leisurely day, I can already tell that. Maybe I’ll leave my stuff at Dunkin’s and go next-door to Win-Dixie for some more fruit & snacks.

When I get to Dunkin’s the first order of business is to upload my new video to Facebook. Yesterday, I did the blog post in the form of taking a camera with me all day and showing video of my day instead of writing about it. I’m excited to share it, but the connection is slow and it’s going to take over three hours for the video to upload. Meanwhile I can’t do much else online because the video upload is taking all the bandwidth. About an hour in the video is a third up, but the connection flickers and the upload stops! I start it over again but a couple of hours later the same thing happens. The connection seems to automatically reset every two hours or so and it keeps stopping the upload. YouTube uploads from Chrome or Firefox are supposed to automatically resume after interruptions, but it isn’t working! I try it in both browsers, each time uploading for hours and sitting there bored to tears only for it to get about a third of the way up before failing! I don’t know what else to do, but it may be a while before I can find someplace with a better internet connection and upload the video I made. )-: I’m really bummed about this! Uploading videos to YouTube has always been tricky for me. YouTube has an online editor, so I try rendering the video into four pieces and uploading one at a time. Even if this works, I’m not sure if I can have it up before closing at 8:00 and I’ve been trying to upload this 13 minute video all day!

As the first portion uploads, I walk over to Win-Dixie for some food. Oranges are good. The individual ones are $2 a pound, but the 4-pound bag is $5. I’m not sure I can eat four pounds of small oranges before they go bad, but with that price difference I’ll try. Bananas are a definite. Cheap and tasty. My bag of mini croissant rolls is going faster than the jar of peanut-butter, so I get more of those. I feel like I could use another item, but I’m not sure what. I need something fattening. I’d go for ice-cream, but homeless, Florida, and ice-cream are not a good trio. A 6-pack of Snickers bars should do the trick. I carefully select the shortest check outline but the cashier is having trouble with something in the order ahead of me and she has to re-scan the entire order three times! I know how to fix the problem though. All I have to do is pick up my four items and go to the other line. I’m sure this line will start moving as soon as I do. I opt to let the kid figure it out on her own. I could always use the patience training anyway. Every minute I stand there patiently I’m becoming a more whole and complete specimen of sanctification.

Back at Dunkin’s part #1 of the video is at 98%. When it finishes I queue up the next three sections. It’s 6pm already, I don’t know if I’m going to get this to work tonight, but I’m trying… meanwhile I play games on my phone while I pass the hours. The second portion finishes uploading at 6:45 but gives me an error message saying “the server has rejected the file. Please upload again.” Aaaarg!!! That file was uploading for nearly an hour! All I can do is keep trying. Since the resume-upload function isn’t working I start splitting and rendering the video into 16ths so that anything that uploads successfully will stay up instead of having to re-start the whole thing over and over again! I’ve accepted the tragic news that we still don’t have flying cars in late 2012, but shouldn’t we be able to upload YouTube videos by now??

7:50pm: Part #3 upload successfully complete! That’s two of the quarters! I’ve been here trying to upload this video for ten hours and I just now got half of it up with ten minutes till closing time! I’m uploading in 16ths instead of quarters now, so there will be smaller setbacks, if any, and I know Theresita will let me stay in the shop until a half hour after closing time when she has to leave, and then I’ve got a two hour battery life that I can spend sitting outside the door after closing, so it’s still remotely possible that I will get this video uploaded for you all to see tonight…
It's ten of nine. Dunkin's is closed and I'm sitting on the sidewalk out front uploading. I've got just under two hours left on the laptop battery, but a quarter of the video left to upload and more processing after that to get it on the blog.
Well, I'm giving up for the night. It's 9:30, my laptop battery is slowly draining and it's never going to make it long enough to get this video up for everyone tonight. Hopefully I'll have it on the blog sometime tomorrow. Heading back to Haulover Park. I think I'll take the few extra minutes to roll out my pad and sleeping bag tonight.