Unfuck Your Habitat: A Glimpse at Poverty and Squalor (and what we can do about it)

Today on Facebook I happened to find a shocking and sad gallery -- Google street view photos of Detroit, showing its descent into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. 

It got me thinking again about a question I've always wondered:  Just why is it that poverty and squalor seem to go hand-in-hand?  Why is it that a low income leads so inevitably to deplorable living conditions in terms of sanitation?  On the surface, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense: Why would being poor make it harder to clean your house? 

But the connection is certainly there, so much so that it's intuitive: When we see a run-down neighborhood, we immediately associate it with poverty.  We have a strong association in our minds between "poor" and "dirty," and I think that's one reason why there's such an instinctive reaction of disgust or disdain toward people living in or near poverty.  There's a huge stigma, an oroboros of filth: We're afraid of being perceived as poor, in case people think that we're dirty, and we're loathe to be seen dirty, in case people think we might be poor.  

So what's the deal?  

Squalor and poverty collide for a number of reasons.  Like most things in life, it's not really simple:

• Poor people can't afford nice things, and they can't afford to replace what they have when it breaks.  Stained clothing, broken-down cars, household damage etc.  
• Poverty quite often coincides with mental illness.  Perhaps being poor has led to depression, or maybe mental illness has made it impossible to find work.  In any case, people who are struggling with mental illness might have a hard time maintaining their homes.  
• Similarly, many of the nation's poor are elderly or physically disabled.  These people are not physically able to maintain their homes and can't hire someone else to come in and do it for them.  
• The "working poor" are probably too busy handling multiple jobs to spend a whole lot of time maintaining their homes.  And if they have small children and/or pets, those homes can get messy quickly.  
• Poverty and substance abuse sometimes intersect, for various reasons that deserve a post of their own.  Like mental illness, drug use can inhibit your ability and desire to maintain a home.  It also tends to be a social type of lifestyle, so the user might have frequent "guests" coming and creating a mess as well.  
• There's a lack of infrastructure in truly impoverished areas.  Things like trash pickup and sewer line maintenance tend to require the help of a municipal service.  If that doesn't exist for some reason -- lack of funding, extremely rural location -- then the task may not be completed. 

Regardless of how the mess came to exist, once it gets set, it's easy for it to snowball.  And thanks to our cultural perceptions of wealth and filth, it can be extremely difficult to get out of this position: You feel ashamed, which leads to depression, which makes it hard to get out of bed, much less tackle an ever-growing mountain of filth.

What if it's YOUR House? 

Thanks to all the baggage associated with it, most of us without much money don't want to admit to being poor, and we definitely don't want to admit to being dirty.  But the fact is, sometimes you look at your kitchen and realize that you have a towering pile of dishes, or trash that hasn't been taken out, or that your puppy shredded a role of toilet paper all over the hallway and you haven't had the heart or the energy to deal with any of it.

Maybe you even have a mean little voice in the back of your mind saying You are poor and live in squalor.  That's just who you are now.  

And so maybe you believe that voice, and maybe you get overwhelmed, and maybe you put off the hard work because it's exhausting and depressing and your life is already really hard.  

Fortunately, there are a few resources to help people who have slipped into this position, providing actual solutions without judging you for them.  One of these, a project I really appreciate and respect, is Unfuck Your Habitat (UFYH).  The thing I love about UFYH is that they're totally non-judgmental and recognize that people are coming from different backgrounds or might have different limitations.  Yes, it's a little vulgar and irreverent (two things I happen to appreciate, but your mileage may vary), but it's also got some very solid advice.

Here's their mission statement:

And our homes aren’t the only things that need to be unfucked. Our finances, our jobs, our relationships: there’s no end to the things we can fuck up. The important thing to remember is that there is nothing that can’t be unfucked. You just have to do it.

No, I'm not being paid by these guys to write about it.  I just genuinely think it's a cool resource.

If UFYH is a little much for you, you can also check out The Flylady, who's also very practical but a lot more "domestic" and traditional.  Either way, the great thing about these sites is that they offer you some practical steps for dealing with the mess and finding your way out of it.

Part of owning your income -- even when it's minimal -- is being proud of what you have.  You might not have much, but if you learn to take care of it, people will treat you differently and you will feel differently about yourself. 

As you learn new domestic skills (making your own cleaning solutions, minimizing your possessions, composting your trash and reducing your waste), you'll find your home easier to maintain.  But right now, today, if you're standing at ground zero -- don't let the shame take over.  Take a deep breath, and make a plan, and decide once and for all that being poor doesn't mean you have to be dirty. 

On Packing, Purging and Prioritizing

We've recently been blessed with a run of good fortune and an opportunity to rent a house from my parents, which allows us to get into a better neighborhood and larger space than we could otherwise afford right now as well as allowing us to live closer to my own aging parents.  Win-win for everyone.

The move more-or-less coincides with our upcoming wedding as well, which means that we have a very busy, hectic time ahead of us with all the packing and planning, not to mention how quickly your social calendar tends to fill up at times like this.  I've been loving every minute of it, of course, but it is definitely exhausting.

Anyway, I decided to kill two birds with one stone this week and invited a friend of mine over to stay for a few days.  We don't see each other often, so having a couple of days to really catch up was nice.  While she was here, I recruited her to help me do some packing and purging, in preparation for the upcoming move.  Together, we jammed out to some Irish punk music and sorted through boxes, making "keep" and "donate" piles and clearing out lots of trash.  (At one point, I found a day planner from when I was in high school, and a syllabus from one of my college classes -- weird how things can hide and multiply in the corners when you're not looking).

My cat thought he would help with the sorting, too

All told, we reduced the contents of the hall closet by about a third.

My fiance and I had toyed with the idea of holding a yard sale, but I think we ultimately vetoed the plan for a few reasons:

1. It's overwhelmingly hot here -- it's hit upward of 105 by noon every day this week.
2. We're in an apartment complex that's not very well-suited to stranger traffic.  
3. We don't necessarily *want* to attract stranger traffic -- this is not exactly a great neighborhood, and I don't know that I want to advertise to the area that I'm moving and may have some nice things.  

So it looks like I have a few trips to the thrift store in my future over the next couple of days.

All of this packing and purging has been sort of fun, but it has caused a bit of inner turmoil at the intersection of "non-consumer" and "zero waste" when it comes to some items -- namely, the things that I can't donate as they're in poor condition.  I tend to wear my belongings into the ground, and once I'm done with them, I'm never sure what the best way to dispose of them might be. 

Presently, that list of items includes a couch and two recliners -- all of which were either free or purchased cheaply from a thrift store.  All are very old-fashioned.  All also happen to have a number of tears from heavy use and bite marks from a certain mischievous puppy who shall not be named. 

Who, me?

I'll be posting an ad to Craigslist, Freecycle and the local swap meet page on Facebook, but if I don't get any takers, I'm not quite sure what I'll end up doing with these things.  Any suggestions? 

Economies of Scale

There's a simple economic principle that affects all of us in our day-to-day lives, though we might not realize it at the time.  It's called "economies of scale," and it's one of the mechanisms that helps the poor stay poor while the rich get richer.

First, a basic definition, courtesy of Wikipedia:

In microeconomics, economies of scale are the cost advantages that enterprises obtain due to size, throughput, or scale of operation, with cost per unit of output generally decreasing with increasing scale as fixed costs are spread out over more units of output.

 This is why, for example, a huge factory is able to secure greater profits than a mom & pop handmade crafting venture.  Despite the high operating cost of the factory, its capacity for sheer volume ultimately gives it an advantage -- and the reason for that is that some costs are fixed.

The same principle applies to wealth inequality and the fixed costs of living.

Take grocery shopping.  Regardless of how much money you make, an apple still costs the same price.  To make things easy, we'll say the apple costs $1.  If you have $10 to spend on groceries to get you through the week, that $1 apple represents 1/10th, or 10%, of your grocery budget.  If you have $100 to spend, that same $1 is only 1% of your budget.

This works the same for a number of other commodities -- things like gasoline, electricity, and (until the advent of health subsidies under the ACA, anyway), healthcare.

Here, you can take a peek at a spiffy chart on this very topic, courtesy of NPR.  

And speaking of that chart, do you notice what the biggest difference is between the upper classes and lower classes?  Upper classes have a substantially higher percentage of their money allocated toward retirement, because they have enough disposable income to invest.  And because investment income is the fastest and most efficient way to grow your wealth (just ask Warren Buffet), and because investments are taxed differently from other types of income, rich people are afforded the opportunity to become richer simply by virtue of having extra money.

Okay...So What's the Point?

I mention all of this not to incite you to moral outrage about the vagaries of our tax code (although, if you'd like to be outraged, you're certainly welcome), but because that pesky economy of scale issue just keeps cropping up.

Economies of scale are, by and large, part of the reason why people living in poverty (or near the poverty line) make so many "bad" (or, I should say, short-sighted) financial choices.  When you have a limited amount of money, you have to spend that money as best you can -- and since you can't very well put your basic needs on hold until you can afford them, sometimes "the best you can" isn't so great.

So: If you're hungry and have $1, it's easier to buy a McDouble than it is to buy the fixings for a nutritious meal.  So you spend your $1 so you can eat, then go hungry for a while, then spend your next $1 the same way.  If you get $1 every day for 30 days, you won't have the same options as someone who gets $30 all at once at the beginning of the month.

Similarly, if you don't have money the day that your bills are due, you're going to either pay the bill late (incurring a fee and possible disconnection), or you're going to borrow money (which you undoubtedly cannot afford to pay back). 

The examples go on and on.

But this is just one of those things that people with money can never seem to fully grasp about people without money.  There's a substantial difference between "not always being able to afford what you want" and "having to make short-sighted financial choices because you are literally starving."  And since pretty much nobody who's in position to make policy has ever been in that latter position, it's no surprise that the policymakers clearly don't understand. 

Book Review: Not Buying It by Judith Levine

Click to buy.  This is an affiliate link

Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping
by Judith Levine

This was one of the more enjoyable books I picked up at a recent library venture.  This is not a practical guide by any means.  It's a memoir, heavily introspective and tied up in politics, and it's fascinating from an anthropological standpoint even if you reject many of the "messages" of the book.

The gist of it is simple: Fed up with Christmas shopping, Judith Levine and her long-term partner Paul decide to embark on a quest of one year buying only the necessities.  She documents this quest in a sort of diary format, with each chapter representing one month.

What made this book particularly fascinating for me is that it takes place between 2003-2004, and is heavily enmeshed in the politics of that era.  Reading it today is a bit like conversing with a Dickensian ghost of the past.  Since so many anti-consumerist, pro-frugality books are reactive, existing in response to the recession, it was refreshing (albeit depressing) to see someone preaching that philosophy at a time when, culturally, we were by and large still convinced of the power of excess.

The writing itself I found to be engaging, although it's certainly not to everyone's tastes as evidenced by the not-very-charitable reviews on Amazon.  The "character" of our narrator/author is in turns fascinating and aggravating.  She's naive and snobby, but no moreso than any other New Yorker (sorry, guys), and she's making a genuine effort.  Although we share a common career, our lives and experiences couldn't be any different...which was, ultimately, the key to much of my enjoyment of this book.

Anyway, it's worth the read, but don't expect to pick up any valuable information from it.  This is not a how-to guide, and it's painfully bourgeois for anyone who is actually getting through life on a budget. 

I'm Angry About the Coke Superbowl Commercial, But Not for the Reason You'd Think

Superbowl happened yesterday.  I went to a party, but didn't really watch it (as is usual for me).  I sat in the kitchen, gossiped with my in-laws and stuffed my face.  I read a good chunk of The Golem and the Jinni on my Kindle, made some commentary about the halftime show, and watched a couple of the commercials.

One commercial in particular raised a lot of discussion around the country.  You probably saw it.  If not, here's what you missed:

It's heartwarming: A multi-lingual rendition of "America the Beautiful" transposed over images of American families of several races, cultural backgrounds and sexual orientations.  It's a powerful image, and a beautiful version of the song, and a lot of people started complaining about it instantly.

Maybe your Twitter feed lit up with racist comments. Maybe the people you watched it with looked at each other uncomfortably and said, "That sure was different." Or maybe you didn't give it a second thought.

But me, it made me uncomfortable.  Not because of the message of celebrating American diversity.  That part is great.  We are a culture of immigrants, a nation built uniquely on the promise of new beginnings and opportunities.  Anybody who takes issue with celebrating our diversity is a fucking idiot.

No, what made me uncomfortable is that, beneath all of its inclusivity, the real rhetoric of the commercial is this:  "We're all people united by a thread of consumerism.  Drink Coke." 

And seeing that message -- "Drink Coke!" -- plastered around the faces of ethnic minorities rubs me the wrong way because Coca-Cola is a business empire that has repeatedly drawn its strength from exploiting workers and citizens of developing countries.

Coca-Cola's Invasion of the Developing World

Mexico is the biggest Coke-consumer in the world.  In Mexico, it's easier to buy a Coke than it is to get access to clean, safe drinking water.  Mexicans are spending $14.3 billion on Coke every year and diabetes is the biggest disease in the country and a leading cause of death.  (for reference: Americans only spend about $2.9 billion on Coke -- and we're obviously a much richer country).  They're also the most obese nation on the planet -- fatter even than the United States.  In Mexico, there are little children literally dying of obesity while at the same time suffering from malnutrition.

But Coca-Cola isn't satisfied.  See, it can't sell more Coke to the countries where the market is already saturated.  Even when we're drinking more soda than anything else, we can still only drink so much.  Even when we're pouring Coke into our baby's bottles, we're not drinking enough to satisfy Coke's bottom line.  So it's expanding out, and finding more people to preach its sugary message to -- like the folks in Kenya, India and China.

Like missionaries of old, Coca-Cola representatives are plowing their way into the developing world and spreading their Manifest Destiny caffeinated beverages far and wide. 

But what's wrong with that, you ask?  What's so bad about a brand selling its product to people in another country?  It's not like anybody's holding a gun to their heads and saying, "Drink Coke or die," or anything, right?

Tell that to the India Resource Center, who's seeing first-hand how Coca-Cola is devastating its country.  Coca-Cola is pulling so much water from the ground to make its product that it's literally creating a water shortage for the people living there  This isn't just a problem for drinking -- it's also devastating the agricultural economy there.  Oh, yeah, and Coca-Cola is pumping its waste into the rivers and fields, poisoning whatever groundwater there was left.

Oh yeah.  And let's not forget the way that Coca-Cola factory employees in Colombia, Guatemala and other nations are literally being kidnapped, tortured and killed for attempting to unionize.  And even right here at home, Coca-Cola is widely known as one of the most racially discriminating employers in the country: In the year 2000 alone, Coke was sued two thousand times for racial disparities in pay and promotions against African Americans. 

My Anger Has Nothing to Do With Language

I can keep going.  I can sit here all day and tell you more about how evil Coca-Cola is.  None of these evils make it unique in the corporate world, unfortunately.  Its behavior is actually pretty par for the course.

But when I see a company whose business model is literally based on invading foreign markets, getting an impoverished and hungry population of young people addicted to an unhealthy product, and systematically destroying that country's infrastructure along the way -- I don't see something to celebrate. 

So before you think, "This commercial is so great!  Coca-Cola really values diversity!  They really care about people!" Realize that you have been taken in by a carefully executed marketing ploy.  Because the truth is that Coca-Cola doesn't give a shit about diversity any more than any other corporation on the planet.  Coca-Cola cares about its bottom line, and it will do absolutely anything to grow that number -- even convincing a bunch of us sentimental Americans that they value exactly what we do. 

The Christmas Cookie Adventure

My friend Ashley is one of the best people I know for those times when you really need to let loose and have some fun.  We're well-suited to each other, too, as we're both introverted animal people with minimal energy for maintaining friendships.  We can ignore each other for months, then hook up to hang out for a night of shenanigans and be perfectly fine with the arrangement.  She's also a fellow rat lover.  It's just a good fit. 

Anyway, Ashley invited me over to bake some Christmas cookies yesterday.  Seeing as how I've been so busy for weeks (and can barely remember what day it is most of the time), this seemed like an excellent chance to escape the daily grind.  It also seemed like a good opportunity to bake some cookies for a cookie exchange I'd agreed to participate in. 

So, eager and excited, I packed up a few ingredients I wanted to experiment with (including a tupperware of frozen pumpkin I'd pureed myself) and headed down to her house. 

It didn't start so bad....

We spent a while catching up.  I said hi to her dogs, then went back to the rat room to meet her new acquisitions and admire her Critter Nation cage.  We discussed strategies for socializing her terrified new rescue.  By the time we were done with this, we returned to the kitchen to see that her husband (who's much more practical than the rest of us) had already started on the cookies.  No worries.  We'd just have a nice drink and relax until he was done. 

So Ashley mixed me up a hot cider with Goldschlager and caramel vodka, and it was the most divine thing I'd ever had.  So good, in fact, that I needed a second one.  And a hot chocolate with the same treatment. 

By this point, I was feeling quite a lot of Christmas cheer.  So I settled in to start experimenting with my pumpkin. 

Things started to go sideways here. 

Upon adding flour, sugar, pumpkin and egg, the resulting mixture looked (not unsurprisingly) rather like cake batter.  Dismayed, but not to be discouraged, I added....more flour.  (In hindsight, it occurs to me that maybe I should have opted for something less glutinous.  Oats, perhaps.  Or dry cereal)

The cake batter was now beginning to look an awful lot like very loose bread dough.

"No worries!" I say, feeling rather confident.  "It'll be great.  I'll just take it, and chill the dough.  That'll make it firm right up!"

So I roll it up in parchment paper (there was no plastic wrap) and (after almost dropping the entire droopy log) manage to wrestle it into the refrigerator.  Ashley, meanwhile, was rooting through the liquor cabinet. 

"Have you ever had whipped cream vodka?"  She asked, drawing out a bottle and a glass that was most definitely not a shot glass.  "Here, try this!"

The Christmas Cheer kept spreading. 

I decided, on a whim, that the ever-spreading log of amorphous dough in the refrigerator should be turned into a pinwheel.  Stuffed with cream cheese frosting.  It'd be delicious! 

(somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet voice is saying, "I don't think that's exactly how those are made...." but I summarily quiet it)

Pulling out a chunk of fridge-cold cream cheese, powdered sugar, and a fork, I set myself to the task of making frosting.  Ashley, meanwhile, is mixing butter-cream for the sugar cookies with her hand-mixer. 

"I'm really not sure why I'm using a fork for this," I said, looking over enviously at her creamy frosting. 

She graciously offers the mixer, although she has some misgivings: "I'm not sure your bowl is big enough for this." 

"It'll be fine!" I say, confidently, as I drop the spinning mixers into a small bowl mounded high with powdered sugar and chunks of cream cheese. 

Predictably, this does not go well. 

Ashley helps me pick up chunks of cream cheese from the counter.  I dust the powder from my shirt and return humbly to fork-mashing.  When this fails to provide me with the results I desire, I pour in some milk.  That helps with making it mixable, but does little to alleviate the lumpiness of the cream cheese. 

"We also have this," Ashley offers, looking a little hesitant and holding out an old-fashioned crank mixer. 

I decide to try this.  The mixer will spin, but only for two revolutions before coming to a stop.  I can't figure out if the frosting-concoction is too thick or if the mixer just doesn't work.  I say as much to Ashley as I hand it back to her in defeat. 

"It probably doesn't work," she says, holding it upside down and examining it.  "That's probably why you gave it to me in the first place when you moved." 

She cranks the handle experimentally and the beaters spring to life, spinning fiercely -- and splattering her, point blank, with a flying spittle of icing. 

This is nearly too much for me.  I'm laughing so hard by this point that my hands are shaking and tears are streaming down my cheeks.  My belly hurts.  My legs are trembling.  I head to the fridge and steady myself by cracking open a beer. 

Once I've recovered somewhat (and made significant headway on the beer), I decide to remove my log of pumpkin dough from the fridge.  I try to unroll it.  The parchment paper sticks, leaving me to peel it off in chunks, losing a fair amount of sticky dough in the process.

(again, that niggling voice in the back of my head insists that this is really not going well)

I flour my work surface and spread out the dough.  It rolls beautifully, smooth and elastic.  I spread it with the "icing" -- a liquidy, semi-transparent white soup dotted with mysterious white gobs. 

I attempt to roll it up.  It sticks to the table, making the rolling a challenge.  As I roll, the dough stretches and sags.  Icing oozes out of the middle.  I try to stem the flow by folding in the ends, like a burrito.  I try rolling it up from the bottom.

Once it's sealed, I look around for some way to lift it over onto the baking pan.  I try a spatula.  It's far too big for that.  Finally, I'm stuck with lifting it with my hands -- awkwardly, as it's drooping in the middle -- and chucking it as quickly as I can onto the pan.

We both look at it uncertainly.

"Maybe it will still taste good," I say.

"This is going on Facebook," she tells me, snapping photos.

Nailed it. 

 I grab another beer and head into the living room to nurse my shame. 

To its credit, my pumpkin-bread-phallus experiment actually tasted fine.  Not like a cookie, a cake, or a cheesecake pinwheel, of course, but serviceable.  Pumpkin-ey.  The texture, however, left something to be desired: A hard, bread-like outer crust containing a gooey, semi-baked lump of pumpkiney goo in the middle. 

"Okay," I admit, finally, as I deviously spread more "frosting" over the bottom half in a particularly NSFW way, "Maybe I need to make something else for my cookie exchange."  

(The rats (in her household and mine) thoroughly enjoyed it, though) 

Happy Holidays, kids (and try to drink the goldschlager after the baking is finished)

The Holiday Spirit

I can't believe I'm a week into December already!  I've been so busy that things are passing in a blur.  After a long dry spell, I have more work right now than I can handle.  This is certainly a good problem to have, but it is a bit stressful, and it sometimes feels like I'm doing my best just to tread water.  So, apologies for falling off the face of the planet recently!

In-between "so busy I can barely think" and "hibernating through having the flu," I've also spent this last week or so being thoroughly invigorated by holiday spirit.  I can't wholly explain this.  As an atheist and non-consumer, I rarely get swept up in all the holiday hype.  And yet, here it is...a little glimmer of warmth in my heart that is undeniably part of the "magic" of Christmas. 

Maybe I've just been watching too many Christmas movies.  My main computer has been in the shop since Friday, so I've spent the weekend on the couch with my laptop, playing every Christmas movie I have for background noise.  After systematically working my way through National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, The Grinch, Scrooged, Nightmare Before Christmas and Edward Scissorhands, it's hard not to feel some peace on earth and good will toward men. 

But I think it goes a little deeper than that.  Actually, I can think back and pinpoint the exact moment when I got infected with this holiday cheer. 

I spent Thanksgiving with my parents and one of my brothers.  The holiday itself was quiet and low-key, just how we like our holidays in our family.  But after Thanksgiving, I went with my mom on a quest to buy some luminarias for her house -- and along the way, I stopped off at a Walgreens to pick up antacids for my partner.  They had a Toys for Tots donation box, and I had a bit of money in my pocket, and I suddenly had the urge to drop something in. 

So I picked out a stuffed raccoon from the shelf -- a very cute toy, and one I couldn't help but cuddle a little before I bought it and dropped it in the box.  And somehow, the tiny act of buying a $10 stuffed toy for an anonymous child, caused something deep inside of me to waken and stir. 

Holidays and the Spirit of Giving

The next time you start to feel miserable and overwhelmed by the wanton cruelty and greed int he world, here's a factthat should cheer you up: According to science, human beings (as all social animals) are actually genetically hardwired for giving.  Being generous is actually in our DNA.  Which would explain, perhaps, why every major religion values compassion and generosity.  And it's probably why even a cynical atheist like me gets the warm fuzzies from the simplest acts of kindness. 

It's my belief that empathy is at the very core of what makes us human.  Our ability to recognize others and realize, "They have feelings just like me!" is the glue that makes all of our social interactions work.  We choose not to hurt people because we ourselves do not want to be hurt.  This is, I think, why storytelling is so important: By learning to care about fictional people, we build the emotional tools necessary to deal with real ones.  By telling monomyths, we create cultural markers that we can all gather around and celebrate. 

Holidays are one of those cultural markets.  We need them because we are creatures of superstition and ceremony.  We need rituals and talismans.  We need magic.  We need an excuse to celebrate so that we can remind ourselves that the long night will come to an end and all will not be cold and darkness forever. 

My Season of Giving

My partner is more naturally inclined to random acts of kindness than I am.  He has a big, loving heart and he can't stand to see people suffer.  He also has no guile or mouth filter; he says exactly what's on his mind and is perennially unembarrassed about being himself.  Where my social anxieties might hold me back from reaching out, he just steps in and lets his heart guide him right through his life. 

I really respect that about him.  So I try to follow his lead, as best I can. 

Yesterday, we went out to pick up some lunch at a local Vietnamese restaurant.  A man outside asked if we could spare some change so he could get some food.  Instead of turning him down or digging for loose change, David invited him to come inside and eat lunch with us.  We bought him some food (enough for two meals - he took some to go for that evening) and had a nice chat about his life and circumstances.  We connected like humans. 

For me, it fed that glowing warmth in me, that Christmas spirit that's been building all week.  For David, it was just what a decent human being is supposed to do. 

If you've never tried it, I urge you to go out tomorrow and do something kind for a stranger.  It doesn't have to be a big thing: Pay for the person behind you in line, tip generously, help an old lady load groceries in her car.  Just reach out to another human, and see what happens.  You never know...even atheists can get a little Christmas miracle sometimes ;) 

And a Bit of Housekeeping...

Tagestraum is still slated to be ready around Christmas, if things go according to plan, and I'm still very excited for it. 

I also have a very special Christmas story planned for all of my newsletter subscribers.  If you want to get it, be sure to subscribe to my newsletter before Christmas!  The link is over there ===>