Sites of Miami

South Beach and Miami in general has a ton of homeless people.  Some of them are war vets, some drug addicts or alcoholics, and some are literally flat out crazy.  I often wonder how one gets to this point and then I feel so blessed to not have gotten anywhere near that point.  I don't typically give homeless folks money, simply because I know it isn't going to go to good use, but I never hesitate to buy anyone that's hungry some food, providing I have the capability. 

(I know I jump around a lot and I'm working to make that better.)

A couple of days ago, when driving home from work, I broke my personal rule about not handing out money.  On the corner of NW 12th and the off ramp, there's a traffic light.  And with that traffic light, comes a variety of homeless men (and on occasion a woman) with their signs asking for money.  Typically, I keep my windows up on that corner, because, let's face it, I'm not a big girl and someone who's strung out has the capability to possess super-human strength.  This day, I had my window open and some cash on me (which I also don't usually do since I have a tendency to lose money) and there was a gentleman coming towards my car.  His sign wasn't anything out of the ordinary: Homeless, hungry, veteran, please help.  But what got me is "Freedom isn't free".  With so much going on in the world, that really struck me.  That's not what got me reaching in my purse though. 

Quite often, I see homeless people that I just don't believe are homeless.  I think they're scam artists.  I don't say that to be mean and I understand that there are shelters where people can get clean and get clean clothes, but sometimes, they're just dressed a little too well with sneakers that are too nice.  Not this man though.  He wasn't overly dirty or overly clean, but he was genuine, that much I felt.  He also had his veteran badge on from the VA hospital and it had his picture, so I know at least that part was the real deal.

As he came by the car, he almost didn't make eye contact with me, as if he was thinking that I was just another young person that didn't care, but I surprised him.  I got him over to the car and gave him a 5, it was all I had, but more importantly, I thanked him for serving our country.  I think he wanted to hug me, not for the money, but for the thanks, and if it were in a different situation, maybe I would have, but the light turned, and it's Miami, and if you don't move your car within a half second of the light turning, you might get killed. 

I kept on with my drive home and I felt good.  Good that my little bit might help, good that my words were probably more valuable to that man than my money, and good that my little part of the world is safe and sound with a roof over my head, food in the fridge, and love in my heart.

 

 

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Burnt!

On the freezer.

I suppose I could be called clumsy at times (odd thing to say about a former trapeze artist, but true).  I've had my fair share of stupid injuries (bicycle crashes, sprained ankles, the usual bumps and bruises), but I've topped myself this time.

Right now, as I live and breathe, I have a small blister on my left thumb.  And how did I come upon this blister, you may ask?  Why sheer stupidity, dear reader.  Two evenings ago, I went to refill my trusty purple water cup with ice.  Now, let it be known that the ice maker has its ups and downs, and one of the major downs is that it doesn't dispense ice through the door of the freezer as it should.  The reality of life dictates that this doesn't get fixed because who has time to stay home and take a day off of work just to have the ice dispenser fixed?  Not I.

So, as I reach into the "hopper" to get some ice, for some unknown reason, I hit my hand on the top of the gizmo.  I quickly pulled it away as I realized, "Ouch!  That burns!"  I continued on with my ice filling not thinking much about it until I went upstairs and it started to burn more.  I mentioned my ice party to the love of my life who informed me that hot water ran through the ice maker.  Does this make sense to you?  It didn't make sense to me, but true it is shown by this stupid blister. 

Note to self: Do not put hand on the underbelly of the ice maker.

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Breaking….point

Add your own preposition up there.  Or don't.  It may all still apply here.

This, my friends, is my first blog entry.  It may not be all that stunning to you, but it's a step that I've been putting off, so it is stunning for me.  So there, I'm breaking (in) to blogging.  I'm breaking (out) of my concealed corner of the world.  I'm breaking (off) the relationship with my reclusive and quite evil twin.  I'm breaking (down) the walls between what I believe sometimes and common sense.  And hopefully, all these things will lead me to not breaking (up) with my current beau.

At 20 till 4 on Tuesday, October 17, 2006, I realized that they weren't kidding when they said that all the best things in life are free.  Love, one of those best things in life, is indeed free.  (Ladies of the night do not love, they just work.)  BUT, even free comes with a pricetag.  Love doesn't want your money whether it be coin, bill, or plastic.  Oh no.  Love only accepts hearts, tears, and an occasional flower.  Love is a fickle bitch that flirts with some never to be caught and lands so hard on others that it nearly crushes them.  She comes and goes, but sometimes, when she goes, she leaves a little bit of herself in each of us.  That little bit is what keeps moms and dads, boyfriends and girlfriends, moms and moms, dads and dads (you get the point) together.

If you're lucky enough to have been left that little scrap of love, hold on to it because you never know when Love might make it back to your side of town.

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