“What year were you born, 1971?”
“That better be an April Fool’s joke.”
“Can I please have your gum when you’re done with it, Rachel? I’d like to test your DNA.”
(The Monday after Easter)
“How was your weekend, Miss Rachel? It was kind of a big one for you and your people, eh? Wellllll, maybe a rough one for your Jewish side, but I bet the left side of your body was alll ‘wooo! it’s our time to shine!’ ”
“Okay, be real with me- are you more excited about your big Easter holiday yesterday or that today is the Dodgers Opening Day? I imagine you consider them both holy so I am just curious.” Continue reading “Weighty Matters.”
Alright, alright, alright, enough of you dear folks have written to me asking me my thoughts on Hannah Montana…err Miley Cyrus’ MTV VMA stunt on Sunday that I felt I really ought to address it. Truthfully, I have put it off all day, mainly due to the fact that I am about to defend Hannah…err Miley and that is not something I have ever wanted to do.
Sunday night, for those of you that missed it and/or are too lazy to click on the above link, Miley Cyrus, instead of personally accepting her MTV VMA award for her video Wrecking Ball, sent a 22-year-old (homeless? formerly homeless? this was never made clear) gentleman on stage to accept the award on her behalf and make a speech challenging viewers to join Miley in championing the cause to care for homeless youth in LA. On her Facebook page she encourages folks to donate with the incentive to enter a lottery in which there is a chance to win a trip to Rio with her. Continue reading “Miley Cyrus, an Ice Bucket and a Hipster Walk Into a Bar…”
Guys, we did it. Can you hear it? The cheers, the sighs of relief, the empty sounds of hollow closets. (That last one actually not true in my case, I still have a lot of crap to let go of before we’ll get anything close to an echo…baby steps, y’all.)
We made it through the March Against Excess. Thirty-one days of giving, complete.
Personally, I feel a sense of relief, new-found freedom and like I will be wading through piles of stuff for the next three months in an attempt to get them into just the right hands.
Continue reading “March Against Excess: Day #31”
One of my residents complained that her feet were cold this morning and because it seems I now fancy myself the poor version of Oprah (“You get a sweater! You get a necklace! You get some boots!”) I ran down to my car and brought her back the pair of Uggs that I’d begged for, for Christmas a few years back (and wore roughly 4 times).
She responded by saying, “Oooo, my granddaughter has some of these! I never thought I would. I really am the cool-hippest now!”
Sister, with lingo like that, you already were.
Continue reading “March Against Excess: Day #Uggs”
This is not a love letter. Well, maybe it is, but not of the romantic variety. This is a letter to Lucy, to Andre, to Darryl and all of the other men and women I have met who have been forced to the margins and shown me that, that is exactly where my God lives.
The Day I Met You
I still hear the voices sometimes
The ones that tell me to quiet down
Sit up straight
And act like a lady
“Ladies are quiet,” they say, “subdued”
The don’t scream at the unjust
They don’t cause a scene
And they sure as hell don’t curse Continue reading “The Day I Met You.”
“I’d be in first grade,” I told my executive director. “Like, say I was born the day I started working on Skid Row, I would have gone through all these big phases; I’d have cut teeth, crawled, walked, said my first words, dressed myself and then gone off to school, carrying a lunch box and learning to play dodgeball all in the time I’ve been here. It kinda feels like I grew up on these streets, with these people.”
“Rachel, you kinda did.”
Continue reading “I Grew Up on Skid Row.”