My dad met Mr. N when they were about 3 years old, living in the same neighborhood in Villa Park. They got in trouble together for years – their earliest crime spree involved painting sidewalks with leftover house paint. When they grew older, they shared cars that they used to drive between places where they would ice skate (or presumably, swim…). One of those cars had only a wire instead of a pedal for the gas, and you’d have to place the blade of the skate JUST RIGHT to give gas to the car as you released the clutch to start it up.
Mr. N used to insist that since neither of them would remove their skate to step on the wire, they spent many long minutes expanding their vocabularies with phrases like, “Oh, sugar.”
Mrs. N knew my mom, though not since they were three. I’m not certain when they met, but I do know that by the time Mr. and Mrs. N decided to get married, my mom was among the friends that Mrs. N asked to stand up for her. And dad stood up for Mr. N.
That’s how they met.
Mr. and Mrs. N were in San Diego (Mr. N was in the Navy) when mom and dad got married and I was born, and then moved to Peoria, IL. I remember driving to Peoria and staying ‘with the N’s’ a few times and them staying with us on similar trips. They moved north to the same area where we lived and we were in 4-H with their kids. Their daughter (the oldest of the kids) taught me to drive on some private property they owned. She and I went to the same orthodontist.
Mr. N is the guy my sister and I call Santa Claus, because when he’d call, it was always the same. First, if we answered the phone, we ALWAYS said, “Ruehl Residence. Barbara Speaking. May I help you?” (Ok, my sister Sandy did not say Barbara speaking.) Mr. N would ask to speak with dad, and we’d say, “May I tell him who is calling?” And he’d say, “Santa Claus.” Once we got really certain of his voice, as soon as we heard him speak, we’d call, “Dad! It’s Santa!”
So, why am I writing about Mr. and Mrs. N (and Santa)? I just wanted to tell you how well we know these people – we let them stay with us after a fire destroyed part of their house, until the insurance brought in a trailer. We watched their dogs when they were out of town, even though they lived a couple of towns over.
Placing the bookmark here.
My shoes are falling apart. Goo or Gloo or whatever seems to be a possible option, but the soles are worn smooth, and we’ve all ready had our first taste of ice. I need some new shoes. Jen at PADS had looked through the stockpile, but then suggested that I get in touch with Glen Ellyn Walk In Ministry to see whether they would cover a new pair for me. As long as it’s for someone with a job, they will get shoes for someone.
I mentioned that to Tim this morning, and he said, “Yes! I’ll write you a referral!” and included the address at Duane and Forest in Glen Ellyn. I laughed and said, “My orthodontist was on Duane.” Tim laughed, too.
It was a crazy morning… I guess everyone was trying to get stuff done because the center is closed tomorrow and Friday. On top of that, two long-term clients were being horrible to one another. She wanted to do her laundry – he wanted her to wait until he was ready. She didn’t want to wait, but just wanted the key so she could do her own laundry. And he started calling her names. Which she did not take well. The morning was filled with hate.
I went to my Employment group – which ended up being Employment Me, spent the time on the computer and putting out a couple of applications, including my first to a temporary staffing location. I feel like I’ve given up, with that. But whatever. I should have given up months ago.
I returned to the main PADS center and listened to people argue and then decided to see whether I could get help at Walk In Ministries, rather than listen to people fight. So, I drove over there. The Methodist church is right across from my old orthodontist’s office (which is available for lease per the sign in the window.)
I walked around to the entrance of the church, and there was a sign giving the church hours, and then the Walk In ministry hours. That was open another 10 minutes. Ring the bell.
So I rang, and heard, “May I help you?”
“I’m here with a referral for shoes from PADS.”
“Ok, you can open the door!”
I stepped inside and entered the lobby, then turned to see a couple of people sitting in a room with a sign that said “Library” amid a lot of books. I said, “I’m looking for Walk In Ministry?” The man said, “you’re right here.”
And the woman said, “Barbara? Is that you?”
Mortified.
Yes, time to hop back to the bookmark. It was Mrs. N.
I’d thought about stuff like this before – what would I do if I ran into someone who I’d taught Nose Work volunteering at a site – that kind of thing. BUT NOT MRS N! No, no, no… I was NOT prepared to deal with this the day before Thanksgiving… ALL I WANTED WAS A DAMNED PAIR OF SHOES!
She was lovely, gracious, Christian, sweet, supportive. Her first question was about Nietzsche. And I started to cry, missing him more than I’ve missed him since dropping him off in Frankfort… just like I’m crying and missing him right now. And she told me about “The Labs” that each of her kids had owned – one each out of the same litter. And the Pug that she’s watching for her grandkids. A little about Santa Claus (who is in the hospital, not doing well at all.)
She asked whether I still have a car. Yes? “We can give you gasoline.” She gave a couple of other suggestions like the food pantries, and a list of possible job opportunities. I took one of the print outs.
“Are you worried I’m going to tell your dad? I won’t…”
“No, no… he knows, Sandy knows. We just don’t publicize it, you know… like on Facebook.” (No, just on Daily Kos, I didn’t explain.)
“I understand.”
I didn’t ask her please not to tell her kids or Mrs. G, my old 4-H leader. The more who know, the less I have to be mortified about. Maybe I should get a t-shirt with a clever saying about being homeless. But right now my head hurts too much to think of anything clever.
And that’s the news from the mortified, lonely homeless at Hidden Lake. But thankful for her new shoes.
Homeless is a series of diaries I have been writing since August 20, 2015, several weeks after I became homeless. PADS is the organization that is in charge of the homeless shelters where I stay nearly every night, and provides assistance signing up for available services, job searches, etc.
Homeless 50 is a compilation of information that might make understanding various acronyms and recognize some of the people a little better. You are welcome to start with Homeless Now and work through the other diaries, but starting with Homeless 50 may give you a jump start.
© 2015 sheddhead – not to be used without written consent of the author, unless quoting portions of this diary on DailyKos, with links back to the original quotation