No Shelter in the Storm

The slosh of the windshield wipers has been a constant in March. Nearly every time I get behind the wheel, it has been raining. So much rain, in fact, that I alternate between two waterproof (sort of) jackets. Throughout March, one has usually been hanging up drying in front of the heater while I wear the other. This particular March has been the rainiest since 1904 in the San Francisco Bay Area, with more than 20 days of rain everywhere and at least 7 inches.

Today was no exception. I got a call this morning from one of our local homeless guys. He was calling for a friend, looking for a motel voucher for a transient man. They were at the laudramat and agreed to meet me at Magdalene House. I hung up the phone and called the local motel to see if there was a vacancy. Since there is no shelter on the Coast, we rely on a voucher program where we can give a night or two in emergency situations...but only if there is "room at the inn." The desk clerk informed me that they were booked up tonight. I got in the van to try to find the guys so they wouldn't waste their time and energy walking all the way down Kelly Avenue to our house. A few blocks up the street, I pulled over.

I was greeted with smiles. Both men were soaked. Their jackets had long since given up on being water-repellant. Their clothes stuck to their skin. As we talked, the rain dumped on us. I apologized for not being able to provide them shelter from tonight's harsh elements. To me, my words rang hollow. As we talked, an SUV... the driver perhaps impatient that I was sorta blocking the traffic lane (there is no parking on this particular portion of Kelly Avenue) ... accelerated and roared past, apparently unconcerned that the vehicle splashed us. The guys appeared not to notice.

I dug in my pocket and fished out a handful of quarters. A warm shower at the state beach at the end of Kelly Avenue costs a quarter for 3 minutes. The man who is "just passing through" grinned and thanked me, even though he would have to put on cold, soaking wet clothes after he lavished in a warm shower.

"Shelter the homeless." That's what we are instructed to do in Matthew 25 of Christian scripture. I failed miserably at this admonition today, which strengthens my resolve to help make something happen. While I don't foresee a shelter opening on the Coast any time soon, we continue to seek a motor home as we have for the past couple years. On days like today, fit for "neither man nor beast" and with no room at the inn, it could provide a refuge for those with no other place to go.

The Runaway

My ten-and-a-half month niece is in the hospital for the umpteenth time in her young life, so I planned on driving to Campbell Sunday morning to see her and her family. The best laid plans...

I let our dog One Way (pictured here relaxing with Mike) out in the backyard when I got up, then jumped in the shower and got ready. It was going to be a quick trip (it's a 45-minute drive each way) because we had a busy day ahead. I was going to take One Way with me because he loves car trips and hanging out with me. Plus, the parking lot at the hospital is covered so he wouldn't get overheated on this extremely rare sunny day day this March. One Way had other plans for the day.

When I opened the back door and called him, there was no response. He was gone. Upon inspection, we discovered a hole in our fence. We immediately sprung into search mode, uncertain how long he had been gone. We began scouring the neighborhood and the beach. I was in a mild panic because One Way didn't have his collar on. If someone found him, there would be no way to locate us.

About an hour into the search, Mike and I met up at home. We were frustrated and helpless, uncertain what to do next, so Mike did the dishes (I think he was trying to take his mind off the worry) and I prepared a "Lost Pet" flyer to post around the neighborhood. Then we recruited guests Martin and Manuel to help in the search.

I dropped a flyer off at the Andreotti Family Farm produce stand down the street and bemoaned our situation with owner Terri, a sympathetic fellow dog lover, who promised to show the poster to all her customers. She suggested I drop one off at the office of the state beach, so I did. Then I headed back up the street. As I was posting one of the flyers on a telephone pole near Hatch School on Kelly Avenue, the truck from the Humane Society pulled up. The woman asked if I was "looking for a lost friend." I said I was and she told me she was headed to the beach because she got a call about "a little guy wearing a Harley shirt." I thanked her and headed back to the beach. Enroute, my cell phone rang. It was Terri from the produce stand alerting me that SPCA was headed for the beach. (No one has a pulse on the neighborhood better than Terri!)

I got to the ranger station and was led to a rusty metal cage. Our little guy was trembling with excitement and showered me with kisses when I scooped him up into my arms. Apparently, One Way has turned himself in. He had been "on the lam", got tired from his adventures, couldn't find his way home and wandered toward the only building he saw.

Our whole household was relieved. After returning to remove all the flyers posted up and down the street, One Way and I stopped by to personally thank Terri for her help. We made it home in time for the birthday party for one of our guests who had just turned 4. The 3-hour detour from our plans reminded me that, no matter how much I try, I really have no control over my days. That's okay. Life is an adventure! (My niece is doing fine, by the way. I never made it down to see her. I can't make it tomorrow because I have English classes to teach but I hope to make it on Tuesday if she is still in the hospital.)

Finally...

Our website has been up for awhile and I set up this blog about a year ago as a journal of sorts to keep you updated on the goings on of the Coastside Catholic Worker. I just never made the time to keep it updated. Well...here we go!

Welcome to COAST-ing!

The word conjures images of doing something effortlessly. This concept is such an antithesis of what we are all about. Some people coast through life...no struggle, no problems. This has seldom been the case for me or for us as a couple or for the people we serve. Poor people don't coast. Immigrants in this environment of anti-immigrant sentiment don't coast.

Because we live here on the coast of San Mateo County in California, just south of San Francisco, just a few houses from the ocean, coasting has come to take on a new meaning. For us, coasting is to live, breathe, laugh, cry, celebrate and struggle in Half Moon Bay where our house is located and in the small communities that make up this region. Coasting is to mesh our lives with those of the people we serve...those who are marginalized...and those who join with us in our efforts to make our little corner of the world just a little bit better, from Montara north to Pescadero south.

A lot is going on in the day-to-day existance of Magdalene House, our Catholic Worker ministry and our new project, CASA de Esperanza. This is the place to keep updated and aware. Welcome to our lives!