Big Brother Sign ...

He was on the street corner as I pulled into the Goodwill thrift store ... a dirty, disheveled, homeless-looking man, his long stringy hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was holding a sign, which I couldn't read.

But his smile was beautiful.

I forgot about him as I began to uncover hidden treasures within the store.

When I came out some time later, the man was gone ... his sign tossed into the bushes near where he had been standing ...

I wonder what happened to him.
Maybe "big brother" finally showed up?

I've decided to link this to the "Signs Signs" meme over at Lesley's "Signs, Signs" blog.

Seventeen Cents and a Bum

My brother, Dow, was the quintessential "bum". And PROUD of it. He accepted people for themselves, not their station in life.

I didn't want my 43rd birthday. It meant that I would be older than my brother ever was. Somehow I made it through.

This year, on August 11th, Dow would have been 50. He would be hanging out with his young grandchildren. And would probably still be haunting the streets, spreading kindness among his fellow "bums".

I don't usually buy coffee from a coffee shop. I make my own at home. But that day I needed one, so I splurged.

When I returned to my car, I noticed a shabbily dressed, stringy haired man standing nearby - his lifetime held in his dirty backpack. Horror of horrors - he was coming up to me!!!

I'll never forget what he said. In a beautiful, soft, well-mannered voice he said "Do you have seventeen cents? That's all I need for a cup of coffee." Remarkable words? No. What was remarkable was that my hand went into my pocket and pulled out what little change I had. "I'm sorry", I said, "this is all I have." We both looked down - at the seventeen cents I held in my palm.

Thank you Dow, for sending me the angel bum. You remind me, even now, of the value of kindness. Of the value of life, of love. I still miss you bro!

Other Side of Oregon City

I had an hour to kill in "old town" Oregon City today, so I went down by the river to get some pictures of the historic old bridge. I apparently went to the wrong side of the walkway - (to the South there is a path/stairway down under the road and onto the pristine rocky edge of the river) - and ended up on a well-worn muddy trail that never did get to the river bank down below. There were lots of fishermen in boats on the river, and $$$$$ houses on the opposite bank, with fenced off lots and beautiful docks. Where I ended up, however, was a summer homeless camp, not used at this time of the year, but waiting for its warm weather tenants to find it again. There were beer cans and graffiti, mud and old tarps, magazines and wet sleeping bags.

I never did get pictures of that historic old bridge. After all, it's been photographed a billion times already. I got to see something more ugly, more gritty, more REAL. I don't regret finding this place. I may go back someday. Until then, in the words of the graffiti artist ... "Bring peace to OC".