This past weekend, the Clan Waugh assembled for no particular reason except for the fact all our calendars allowed it. Andy flew in from San Diego, Amy took the train down from New Brunswick and Maggie and Jan drove up from Richmond. Even Dave was able to be with us (his first weekend off this month).
In celebration of this momentous event, we built a fire in the pit out back and sat in the dark around it eating tasty grilled hotdogs imported from Buffalo with baked beans and crunchy pickles on the side. Real hotdogs only come from western and central New York – just ask anyone who’s ever lived there. Chicago hotdogs come close and there are those who would argue that Coney Island is the home of the hotdog. But, if you’re lucky enough to have the opportunity to try a Sahlen’s Buffalo) or Hofmann’s (Syracuse) hotdog, after one bite, you’ll know I speak the truth.
After feasting on our dogs, we toasted marshmallows and made s’mores. It was a perfect early fallish evening, with cool crisp air a sky so clear full of stars. The fire kept us warm and provided enough light to see at least a few feet. At one point Izzie took advantage of the comings and goings out the back door and rushed out to join us. I don’t usually let her out after dark because of the wild things. To ease the general concern for Izzie running around in the dark, I shared a story about how when I was a kid, we took our cat camping with us. When we arrived at our site, she’d jump out the car door with the rest of us. When we were ready to leave, she was right there, ready to go home. I find that totally amazing, even now. Then as now, we couldn’t see the kitty but could hear her bell jingling from time to time as she moved around the yard.
On Saturday we took a trip into C’ville to visit the Downtown Mall; a closed-off street in the old downtown area of the city, lined with a variety of shops and eateries leading to the nTelos Wireless Pavilion amphitheater. Maybe I was just tired from the night before, and the day was cloudy, but I found myself really wanting to leave not long after arriving.
Instead of finding the charm of the late 19th century architecture or the beauty of the garden planters, I was distracted by the large number of panhandlers and homeless. I just never know what to do when confronted by these people. Their mere presence nudges me to take action on their behalf. But what kind of action should I take? Should I give them money? Will they use it for food as their cardboard signs claim or buy drugs or booze? Should I buy them food and give that to them? Are they really in need or are they working the crowd? It seems all I can do without hesitation is pray for them.
A woman approached Dave and I while we were waiting for the kids to finish up in an antique shop. She blurted out her story without invitation or taking a breath. She had spent the night in the hospital and was released in the morning without being fed. She was a sad looking soul, probably about my age. Her skin was pale and her nose was scabbed over as if she’d taken a tumble head first onto gravel. A kind nurse had given her a pair of scrub pants to wear because all she’d been wearing the night before was a t-shirt and shorts and the weather had taken a turn. She said her wallet was at home and all she needed was a couple of dollars to get a bite from the McDonald’s dollar menu. Her boyfriend was going to pick her up when he got off work, she said, but really need something to eat before then.
I almost never carry cash, I so rarely need it. My life is conveniently paid for electrically either online or with plastic. Luckily, Dave had a couple of singles and offered them to her. She thanked us and went on her way.
One on one, it’s easy to made a decision. When a person comes to me for help, I’ll do my best to lend a hand or few dollars as the case may be. After she left, I asked Dave if he thought her story was true. He said he supposed it was possible since she was wearing scrubs and still had a hospital bracelet on her wrist. In the end though, it really didn’t matter.