I went downtown with my annual Christmas stocking to find a homeless woman to give it to. Finding the right person means being in the right place at the right time. I drove around the typical church door ways but did not see a homeless woman. There are lots of homeless men but not many women who brave the elements like that. I understand why they do not like shelters as I have tired of being regulated myself. Dignity and privacy are sometimes worth more than refuge from the rain. Anyway, I stopped at Safeway and nearly got shot. I cut in line accidentally. Actually, nobody had a gun but I did incur the wrath of a long line of angry people. I look privileged. I moved to a a shorter line.
I left and drove around some more. Beautiful city lights, interesting gas station attendant, I ran into a PSU building and felt lucky to be there although I resent the Borg, drove around Northwest Portland and mourned the loss of the parks to gentrification, revisited my old apartment building and pondered possibly moving back downtown, then back to Safeway. That was where I found her. Right where I began. A young woman in a wheelchair, swaddled in blankets, holding a puppy in her lap. She had tattoos on her face and many piercings that ordinarily would have made her look tough. But, her eyes were tired and reddened and she complained of infection in her foot. She said the antibiotics from the clinic were not enough. I silently cursed the nation's lack of sufficient health care and excused myself. I ran back to my car, the luxury sedan that is old and wearing out but I am so lucky to drive. I grabbed the Christmas stocking I had lovingly supplied with basic necessities, a few beauty items, and some soft purple socks tied with a ribbon and another bag with a bottle of water and some aspirin. I handed them to her and gave her a hug. I tucked some cash into her gloves and she seemed genuinely happy for a moment. I startled her friend who was standing there by giving him a hug, too. Now it was a Merry Christmas.
