thoughts on a day of thanks

My soundtrack was the melodious-jazz-piano-plunking set against the chilly Thanksgiving night as I drove through the emerging vibrancy of downtown. The fast-paced song urged my foot to push the pedal just a little more cruising through the almost empty streets as the residents of the city of stars passed the evening with their friends and families feasting on too much food an too much drink. The only human presence on these dark urban-turned-yuppy streets was nestled beneath sleeping bags with backs pushed against the windowpanes of the corporate buildings to guard against the brisk breeze.

This holiday was spent in solitude that year by choice. It was indeed a day of thanks: for strength, inner peace, health, happiness. The warm sun reddened my cheeks earlier that day as I ran along the coastline soaking in the sea air and watching as families gathered in their beachfront homes to celebrate; young families gathered for a non-traditional barbeque, volleyball and surfing. Sweat dripped into my eyes, burning. I paused to rest my lungs and muscles. A restaurant was giving out free turkey dinners complete with trimmings served on Styrofoam plates and plastic cutlery. The local transient residents sat on the brick walls, belongings close by, enjoying the warm holiday food. Today is a day they are welcomed out of the shadows of homelessness and embraced by the ‘homed’.

Driving through downtown that night in search of an open bar, I passed a local shelter, cleaning up after their own Thanksgiving celebration and soup kitchen. Surely that morning and afternoon had been filled with cooking and donated time to the less fortunate- to those who have nothing. Gifts were wrapped and distributed in preparation for Christmas. Children living in shelters praying to find their next meal are granted a day of joy and look forward to the next holiday celebration.

As these layers of images spun around my mind, I was overwhelmed by the irony of the feast or famine mindset of this country. One of the most overlooked, invisible populations: men, women, children who simply do not exist yet suffer daily in their all too real but seemingly transparent lives. Tucked away in nearly ancient hotels not suitable as homes yet serving as shelter; children sitting in classrooms with grumbling stomachs and aching, growing muscles; men and women self-medicating on the nearest readily available drug to numb the reality of hopelessness. The money and wealth are stockpiled by the rich and richer throughout the year only to dole out small helpings of resources on sanctioned federal holidays. My heart sunk as I thought of the colliding worlds. How is it that we have enough money to feed every human being some days and only enough to allow the most elite to gorge and overindulge on others?