Happy New Year!

Happy New Year from GreenGreenGrass!

This is the first year I didn't go home for Christmas, so my very first not spending it with my entire family.  I needed the break from traveling, but I did miss returning home to the cold midwest air slapping me in the face as I exit the plane. And so, I sat here in Los Angeles.

With more than a week off of course I wasn't going to use it to lay around the house. I dragged my husband on a little road trip. We ended up driving more than 1200 miles within a 2-3 day span through Vegas, for a day, and then to Death Valley. I hadn't been Death Valley before and it was close enough to check it out in the limited time we had.  

I looove unplanned road trips...driving, letting things run into you, rather than you planning what to see.

We arrived in Death Valley during that time of the day when the sky is starting to settle in. That time when the sky seems to be winking as a reminder that the sun will soon be retiring.  We climbed Zabriskie Point with me in the wheelchair.  It wasn't easy, but I didn't want to miss the sunset.  I wanted to see what was on the other side of that cliff point. Of course we all know, sunsets in areas with negative population are the most glorious, and so I stood under the Death Valley night sky, wildly unadorned with color blazes ripping through its secretive sky.  It was really beautiful.  The innumerable stars were crystal clear.  

On this trip we ended up driving through the entirety of the Valley.  

There's alot of things I may not be able to do or areas I can't travel through in life but the ones I can, you can bet your botttom mario coin that I will find a way to do it.  In fact, I probably drive my husband crazy by how much I want to do. I can't sit still, even though I'm destined for a chair.

When you suddenly can't do something, you realize how important the "can" is.  Don't waste your "cans".  Don't waste time reading about it, go see it.  There is so much to see out there and all I really, really want to do is see it all.  That is all I've ever wanted to do since I was a little girl.  I'd daydream when I was old enough I was going to escape and backpack around the world...alone.  I may not be able to do it exactly the way I had daydreamed about as a child but I still want to do in whatever degree I can.

Happy New Year!  Make it count. Remember, you can do anything and everything! If you want it, it's yours.

xoxo

Edward's Gift

I've always loved the movie, Edward Scissorhands.  I remember the first time I watched it. I immediately fell in love with Edward and his world - which was way more fascinating than the world underneath him. I think we all have felt like an Edward before.

Growing up I never quite felt like I fit in anywhere but that is the great thing about getting older. You realize it's not about fitting in, it's about sticking out.

Merry Christmas, everyone!!

Don't Forget About Yourself

I've been meaning to do this post for awhile.  I mentioned since moving back to LA I have been focusing on physical therapy.  When I lived in San Francisco I did a bit of swimming and at the beginning stages of my condition I had been involved with physical therapy that was paid through my insurance, which means you only get so many sessions and your doctor has to prescribe a new one every time (Privatized insurance sucks).  

This place is different as therapy has come out of my own pocket. But this place is well-known and well-priced.  I just finished four months of therapy and I am on a break until the next session starts.  I've been doing it four days a week; 2 land (gym) days and 2 water days at a place in Northridge, California called 'Center of Achievement'; an extension of the well known physical therapy program at CSUN.

It was great.  It felt awesome to feel active and to be doing something entirely for myself.  The best part was AJ.  He was my aquatics partner. We grew into fast friends. I wholly appreciated the effort he put into me. He is good at what he does and most importantly personally cared for my physical well-being, sometimes, even emotional.  

When AJ sense I was having a particular bad day, even though I'd try to hide it with a more cheerful self, I could see it all over his face. He knew and would be there like a friend.  He seemed to really care about what he does and would think of creative routines to help build or maintain certain physical areas.  Swimming was probably my favorite because you can do things in water that you can't do on land, like walking without braces or devices. For that hour, I gain an insight of what "it" used to be like.  

Most of the time we would laugh during the session. I would tell him if I laugh I become physically incapacitated because it takes muscles working in cooperation to both walk and laugh at the same time. My muscles aren't multi-taskers.  So, I would do my best to focus. Sometimes in this hour I would take full advantage and day dream as if this temporary movement was my every day.  

If I was doing the water treadmill I would try and stay focused to avoid tripping. With eyes closed I would imagine myself walking down the street, down the sidewalk like a "normal" person.  It was a great place to be.

I can't express how important it is to get yourself physically active--in whatever form that may be.  Do what you can and if you are an HIBM patient, or any person with physical ailment, get yourself out there and move what you can.  With HIBM it's important to maintain what you have.  Even  though patients can't do alot of exercise, because it could damage and tear muscles, it's important to not forget about yourself.

I did. I should have been doing it all this time but I tend to concentrate too much on others.  Between the work I do with ARM, the organization that is working on a treatment for my condition, trying to be there for other patients, other people, engrossed in work, etc.,

I tend to forget about myself.  It's a good and bad trait, I know this.  I guess I can't help it. I sometimes hate that part about myself. Sometimes I wish I didn't care so much and was more selfish. I wish I concentrated on myself more, but like Jason says, I don't usually think, I just do.  

Feeling other people's pain and suffering or being inspired triggers the "doing" mode and my passion of "What can I do?" comes front and center.  

I've heavily neglected myself through the years.  It's hard enough dealing with the loss of your body, but helping those that are trying to get a treatment to surface, the burden of constant responsibility and accountability, feeling everyone's sadness and plight -- is all overwhelming, taxing and sometimes lonely. Because of the lack of help in this HIBM mission I feel overwhelmed.  

How do you help others and help yourself at the same time?  I can't in all good conscious walk away, but there needs to be balance.  And, that is what life is all about.  Finding balance and growth.  Don't be completely and unapologetically self important, selfish, but don't sacrifice yourself completely, either.

So, moral of the story? Keep calm and keep moving.  It's important to keep yourself going, because once this condition graduates to later stages you will have wished you would have done more to take care of yourself.

We may not be able to build muscle but the little bit we can work with will make you feel better.  The release of endorphins is needed and essential.  Keep yourself mentally and physically curious.

It's easy to make excuses.  When we say, "I don't have time" I think that is misused.  It's not that we don't have time, we just haven't made that particular thing or person a priority.

Thanks, AJ!   See you next semester.

Alas, It Was All Just a Dream

A recurring dream.

There are more than a handful of dreams that I have had since childhood and most of them have evolved over time. Many of them unpleasant.  

I was a little hesitant to share this one.  Dreams are so personal and if it fits into a certain box people assume the meaning of your dream.  For teeth falling out I believe it's something like anxiety of appearance, how you look to someone else or the sense of loss of control.  With sharing such popular dream themes I hesitated, because one, it's personal and two, it leaves an opening for assumption.  

Alas, I share, because I guess I don't care what other people think and we all have dreams that contain revealing elements about us. This one is definitely one of my more normal dreams. 

I'm not sure if the whole teeth thing is a vanity thing, but you never know.  

These dreams that I've had since childhood are usually ongoing and evolving and truly frightening. I'll save the gory details but I usually people I know aren't in my dreams. 

I believe I have always had a phobia about losing my teeth.  Not to the extent where I'm obsessive compulsive about brushing or flossing.

The teeth fall out, I chew them and it feels so real, it turns into powder and all of the above.  The dream is not so traditional where it is only about teeth falling out, this particular dream has other strong elements involved.  

Maybe this stems from being fully aware of people around me who had lost their teeth at a young age, including my mother.  Call it fear of loss or whatever. I don't really care to get analytical about it or told what I need to do less or more of something. I'm just sharing. I thought it would make for a cool illustration and express something different. I may illustrate some of these frequent and long lived dreams some other time.  

As I've gotten older I realize most of these recurring dreams are built around the fear of loss and abandonment, which is strange since I always thought that being adopted didn't really bother me.  

Like every child I went through the stages of trying to fit in. But I had to do it a very white community. These adolescent struggles never really seeped in me so deeply where it paralyzed me socially or emotionally, though.  But, I'm sure it has wormed its way into my subconscious and it's there. These dreams I've had since childhood, some of them are B.A. (before America).  

Before I was adopted I had a childhood in Korea, a childhood I know nothing about or even remember. Perhaps these lost memories have resided in my dreams throughout the years. Who knows. I try not to overly think it and I certainly don't want to waste time whining over it, because I had a decent childhood.  But, alas, these dreams I've had since then kind of speak to me and perhaps would work well in illustration form, since the fear of loss actually showed up in a very visual and real form; the loss of my own body.  The fear of loss and abandonment. I, like everyone hate publicly listing all my fears. But hey, we all  have them so there is nothing to feel embarrassed about.  

Prior to HIBM I was not one to sit and pour out all my feelings.  In fact, I hate such things and was quite the opposite.  My mother would fight with me for hours to express myself. 

"Why did I do what I did, what was I thinking, what did I have to say for myself" was out typical conversation. I would hold it all in. I always saw myself as extremely introverted, which is funny because most people who know me now see me as extroverted.

But I was always in thought and considered myself more of a loner in life. I'd rather keep to myself, because isn't it safer that way?  But, as we get older, it's no longer about safety, I suppose.  We all have a story to tell and from its own angle it's interesting and real and deserving of being shared.

S-Factor

Like my boots?

I drew this to explain why I am constantly cold.  Yea, yea, I'm a female and females tend to always complain how cold they are.  

Something like, "Women conserve more heat around their core organs, which means less heat circulates throughout the rest of their body"  contributes insight into why this is.

 Well, there is that plus the HIBM side effect of feeling cold despite it being 80 degrees out.

Two things I love; soup and being warm. Blankets, scalding hot baths and showers galore, bring it on, because I love it and need it.  My husband thinks I'm nuts. He's roasting and I'm freezing cold any time air hits me.  Turns out I'm not just crazy, but there is an explanation.  

Now, I'm no doctor so here is my juvenile explanation. I'm sure there is more to it, but here's the idea.  HIBM patients don't have shiver factor.  Like everything, there is a purpose to every little motion in our body.  Shivering is a bodily function in response to dropped temperatures in warm blooded animals.  When the core body temperature drops, the shivering reflex triggers in order to maintain homeostasis.  Your muscles that envelope your organs begin to shake in an attempt to create warmth through it's energy. Well, I don't really have that...some of it, but not all of it.  

HIBM patients are deficient in sialic acid which causes some of the muscle weakness.  Normal muscles contract, so when you work out and get hot it's because your muscles are contracting heat and generates warmth. But, HIBM patients don't have enough muscle for adequate contraction and I guess that contributes to the coldness. That less mobility.  The more I progress, the more coldness I experience. 

If you've slept next to me you would know how absolutely unbearable my feet and legs can be. It would probably feel like you are sleeping with a dead person, I can become that cold.  My feet feel like frozen blocks of ice. My calfs and legs are hard as rock and at times frozen to the bone.  I know, sexy.  I totally would use this as my dating profile.  "Cold as Ice".

If I've been sitting for too long, and cold on top of it, my legs get so swollen and hard that I can't slide off my leg braces.  At this stage in the condition I'm not used to sitting for long periods, but when I do it can be really painful due to the swelling.

My hands are also usually pretty cold, too, especially my fingers.  So, while Jason is roasting and sweating, I am frigid and cold.  

I share these things because these are little moments that contribute to understanding a condition. It's person first and then the condition. I don't share so you to feel sorry for me, feel bad, tell me how inspirational I am nor get attention, because quite frankly this type of attention is one I'd rather leave on the shelf.  

But, it's the moments, not just for MY condition but any physical or mental condition, that exemplifies a disease, and not the textbook version. When I see others, I don't really see their condition or predicament but tend to visualize their small moments first.  

Homeless.  What does it really feel like to be shivering, cold and absolutely hungry?  I visualize how the body may move when it hasn't eaten for days or weeks. How they must feel knowing they have no home to go to. How quiet their days and nights must be.  

Going from strong to weak is the most humility I have ever experienced. Your mortality shouts in your face.  In the same breath you're moving from weak to strong, because if you can stick with yourself, believe in yourself, and keep moving, there's a safety, a comfort, in knowing who you are. Despite the utter pain it can  cause, at least you had the experience.  The experience of knowing your mortality.  It's something we hate to accept or confront because we are invincible, right?  But, there is a beginning and there is an end.  I think, there is a comfort in understanding your mortality. Maybe we wouldn't be as arrogant, self-centered and self-important.

HIBM has definitely contributed to me opening up.

Find Your Perspective

I seem to begin all my posts with, "Sorry, it's been a really long time since my last post..."

Well, I'm not going to do that this time. I'm not. Truth is, I have so much to share, in words and illustrations.  I have a back log of hundreds of drawing ideas, but we all know how it is. Finding the time is difficult and finding the excuse is easier ;).

I've been doing pretty well.  Really.  Been very busy while fighting some kind of being sick for the past four months. It's odd, besides my initial birth where i had all sorts of health complications, growing up I barely got sick.  My mother used to always say, "You never get sick".  I think she took personal credit and pride in that.  But, I guess we aren't twelve anymore.  

I get tired more often than I'd like, part age, part my hibm, but do my best to hold on to being able to do everything and anything. I just can't give that part up yet. I feel like hibm tries to wrestle me down...aha!

There's an illustration idea: a wrestler named "HIBM". What a schmuck. I envision what we must look like in the ring. I'm sure my costume is way cooler than his.

The other day I fell. I fell right in front of my bathroom door, right next to my bedroom door.  I fell backwards, flat on my back with my walker perfectly straddled over me. Don't feel bad. By now I'm an expert faller. I haven't fell in a very long time and it was a silly little step that threw me off balance. I was particularly mad and obsessing over that little misstep, because I had too much on my agenda that day and falling is a nuisance.  A waste of minutes.

Feeling too weak to roll over and attempt the whole drama of sitting up, I just laid there.

"shit"

"really?", I mumbled.

I stared at the ceiling.  "Huh, a new perspective", I thought.  It only takes a fall to see something new.

I texted a friend from down the street. Her name is Sonya. I hired her when I moved back to pop by a couple times a week for an hour to help out and in general someone who I could call in case of emergencies.  I try not to rely on her for too many things so I can maintain my independence, but she helps me with little things; when I need a ride or get myself in a pickle like today.  It's been invaluable having her available and willing to come when I need something.  

"I'll be there in 20 minutes.", Sonya texts.

I soaked up the scenery of my door and ceiling.  "Oh, so close", I kept thinking. I was nearly out the door.  It wasn't a terrible fall. Ironically, my walking is far from being graceful, yet my falls make me look like I'm a feather dropping.  

Seemed like a perfect situation to make my doorway into a drawing. After all I had spent a good amount of time lying there.

In my drawings my lines are ragged, a bit jaggedy.  I remember my very first illustration a year ago and I was annoyed that my lines weren't perfect, yet shaky. But then I realized I've never been able to sketch perfect lines even before HIBM began.  Not even in ID school.  My hand shakes a bit when I draw. I decided just to go with it and let that become my style.  I'm not perfect, so why should my lines be?

I imagined my door, walls and cupboards as buildings, and there I was walking in the sky.  I was looking up at myself or was it, I was looking down at myself?  Imagination is very important.  I think we focus on grades, intellect, education, and in school we sort of teach ourselves out of imagination, but imagination is a very important tool to have in life.  Don't let go of it.  I don't need to go on about that.  I'll leave that to Sir Ken Robinson. I recommend his book Out of Our Minds.

When I don't have control, when there is nothing in the world that can change my circumstance, I imagine myself out of it. After all, as much as I'd like to, I can't escape my problems. I literally cannot run away.  Sure, I could avoid them, like most of us try to because we don't want to deal with anything bad, or I could take up a vice and get lost in overeating, working excessively, drinking, constant partying, drugs. This is in no way judgement to those that do. Every one of us have our escape routes handy in case we need to jump ship.

I guess for me mine is creativity and "doing".  Creativity keeps me grounded, sane, more alive and will things possible.  It's all I have in these moments. I want what I can't have so badly that I say, "Screw you" and imagine it up myself.

If I saw it exactly as it really was, such as this situation on the ground, it would only make me cry and frustrated.

Temporary

The body is a very temporary thing...

Humor In Struggle

There is humor in every struggle.  Sometimes, I wished I had a camera on me.  I feel like some of the moments are too good not to share.  Even though it may bring about frustration or momentary despair the positions I get into when doing the simplest of tasks is both cockamamy and befuddling.

Like just now. I was walking over to my wheelchair so I could wheel myself to the curb to wait for my ride. As I let go over my walker to lower myself into the chair I was gripping onto the kitchen table for dear life. I somehow missed and only an 1/8" of my butt caught the seat.  I'm not sure how this is possible since I have a huge bottom.

Nevertheless, my heart stopped, my defunct legs stretched out and with my back slowly giving out on me, my neck was having a hard time holding my neck up.  

"Lovely ceiling", I thought.

I could feel myself slipping out of the chair, "Shit, I don't want to miss my ride to physical therapy", I thought as my limp body laid there holding on for dear life.

"I only have one shot. If I mess up then I'm on the ground and there is no way I can get back up."

Usually I have to get creative and use every piece of my body and brain to push myself up.  My movements are merely millimeters but all contribute to the grand success.  My legs are dead and I can't even move them to help give rise to 1/8" butt covered surface to say a 1/2".  I do my very non-sexy grunt and groan. By this point I'm just plain upset that I have to be in this situation. 

But seconds count as loud as any siren.

I don't know how I get out of these situations but once I do, nothing smells as sweet as that victory. So, size doesn't matter. It's relative. It's small, yet big and afterwards I celebrate alone.

Sometimes, too happy to stop and be upset about it

Sometimes, with a couple tears.

Sometimes, it's with laughter or humor.

Sometimes, Suntory time??

Even though it's hard, you never know yourself better or have more of an intimate moment with yourself than in the stillness of a struggle surrounded by tumultuous placidity.

And now, I'm on my way out to catch my bus to physical therapy.

Where Did All the Food Go?

I know, there are always pictures of food on here, so where did they all go?

I've barely been posting any food pics because I've barely cooked since moving back to LA.  Embarrassingly, I probably could count on one hand how many times I've cooked in the past 3 months and more embarrassing I've only opened my house once to friends to participate in eating my efforts.  It's been a combination of adjusting to a new home, the setting up of logistics for me to be mobile, getting home late every night from physical therapy, being busy with work and traveling back for both of my brother's weddings. And well, I must admit I'm just a little intimidated by my new kitchen.

I don't know her as well. The layout is something my body needs to adjust to. There's extra steps, wider alley, counters are slightly lower and we need to learn how to work well with each other.  I need to absorb a new routine and a new way to move around her. To cook in mass proportion requires a whole lot of planning and I need to gauge myself in order to accomplish everything I set out to do. Which means adding in extra time than I needed say the year before, taking appropriate breaks (as you can see me sitting in the chair above) and have fun.  If it's not fun then all the struggle isn't worth it.  If you really care or want something then the standards you set can be achieved in spite of struggles.

At the last minute before we headed to Michigan we decided to make a bunch of food and have some friends over.  The great thing about the new space, and one of my hopeful requirements when searching for a home, is enough space to have people over for food. I think 20 people came over and above is all the food I made - from scratch. Jason and I made 8 homemade pizzas, 2 pans of ratatouille lasagna, piles of meatballs, huge salad...etc.  

At the end of these dinner parties I never know how I made it through. It was two days worth of cooking and it was great getting back into it. It was more work than I had estimated, as usual, but it's great exercise and what better way to "exercise" than cooking for others. I barely ate my food, as usual, but I did drink ;).

I always say it, but I love people coming over and I love the remaining messy place after a great big party. It means people had fun. It's a huge project and there is a satisfaction from successfully completing it. I'll try to get back into my cooking and having people over when things settle.  I miss it. 

With that, I know what you are thinking. "How the hell can she cook all that but in the previous post went on about hour-long instant ramen?"

Sublime SoCal Autumn

In Big Bear.  Amazing weather and colors. Lying in the middle of the forest, my first real SoCal Autumn. So still, I can hear my own heart beat and the falling leaves duet.  Autumn, my favorite season of all.  How can something so beautiful be dying at the same time?

Hour-long Three Minute Ramen

Since returning from my two week out-of-town-wedding-fest I've been recovering. It always takes me awhile to recover after a trip.  I came home pretty exhausted, sick and tired from the traveling as well as all the bridesmaid and sister duties. I feel like I am back at square one and trying to build myself back up again.

It just took me over an hour to get up from my desk, go to the bathroom, make a cup of ramen noodle soup and shuffle back to my desk.

Imagine spending over an hour in slow motion, paranoid of falling with every step. I hate the feeling and dread each journey when it comes to accomplishing a task.  It sounds strange that it could even take so long when I cook up complex dinners for large group of friends. For those, I have my sous chef Jason, a routine and everything is propped up, including me, like a staging area. With someone near me I can create mountains of food, yet alone simple tasks like cooking microwave ramen and getting it successfully to my desk is my arch nemesis  

It is sort of funny but painful at the same time. I'm stubborn and try to beat "it" as if nothing can stop me, but it quickly puts me into my place.

I'm stuck between sort of walking and not. 

Even though it takes forever to do such a small task I must do it to maintain what walking ability I have left. Iit would be so much easier to quit.

By the way, all that effor and the ramen sucked.  To be expected, but alas the only thing I could make on a tired day like today.

Michigan Autumn Love

I've been in Michigan, my hometown, for the past week thus my absence here. Both my brothers scheduled their wedding in the same October week. I have alot to share but for now trying to drown out any usual stress or demands from every day life and enjoy as my brothers step into a new chapter. That and basking in childhood memories among this beautiful Michigan Autumn weather.

I'll be back soon to share.

I Spend A lot of Time Thinking About...

I'm sitting in an airport waiting to be on my way. People watching is my favorite thing to do. I think it is for many of us, right? 

I spend alot of time thinking about...

the lives of the people I pass on the street; where they're going, where they're coming from, who is it they really love and why are they with someone when they don't. Who they are going home to, why they did it, what is their motivation, what scares them the most, did they really mean to do it, what were they like as children and why did they run in the opposite direction. How many of them will meet the stranger they just passed at a future moment and how many times has that happened. I think about how each person's steps is in sync with their own heartbeat. I think alot about floating particles, how old they are and their journey.

One comes to their own self awareness through collective thoroughfares, each one its own puzzle piece adding to the completion of a scene only to be part of another scene.

I'm quite tickled by story lines and motivation. What makes them do it. What made them take a shortcut or what made them take the hard route.

I spend alot of time thinking about people whom I've never met.

She

She's always there...

You're the Thing...

You're the thing that keeps me up at night...

Pick Up and Go

I'm so frustrated with the logistics of getting around. That's the difficult part of a progressing condition, especially as it nears going into a chair or beginning stages of one. A affects B, B affects C and everything thereafter. Any little change in a situation changes the entire plan.

I had an old pair of e-motion wheels loaned to me. These are sensor activated motors in the hub of wheels that assist my propulsions. My arms and hands are two weak to push a manual chair.

Last week I was able to successfully get out of my apartment door, into the elevator, out the lobby door, into the disabled lift, down it, rolled myself down the steep ramp and onto the curb all because of the wheels. All by myself. It was nice. I felt like independent hot stuff

But, today they aren't working so I had to have a neighbor come let me out. I have physical therapy from 6-8pm for the next few weeks so I scheduled my Access (paratransit service) to pick me up at 4:40 pm.

On a typical ride to my weekly therapy it can range from a 1.5-2.5 hr trip due to shared ride policy. However, today, Access got me to my therapy in 20 minutes.

So, here I wait an hour early, usually an hour late, in the lobby unable to push myself around because one of the motors are broken. The wheels are really old, so I guess it was going to happen. Crap thing is I've been waiting for these loaner wheels for months so I could gain some independence. I finally get them and then they die right away.

Oh well, heightened independence was great while it lasted. This is how it is for everything, every minuscule chore. It's not just this situation I find frustrating, it's the entire package. It's grains of rice that lead to the entire harvest.

Frustrated. I despise the loss of freedom, the incapability to pick up and go. It's really something wonderful to have this privilege. I despise depending on others to accomplish the most minute task. 

I know I'm supposed to try and friend you, but the truth is, I hate you HIBM. My only desire to is to pick up and leave you and yet you hang around tightening your grip on me. At times I feel jipped. I did everything "right", so what happened? Unbeknownst to me, you were always lurking there, you waited, and then suddenly you hit me at the most productive years of my young life. You jipped me. You have shocked me for the rest of my life.

This is a recent response. I didn't used to feel this way. I've not a, "Why me?" person, because why anyone? Perspective tells me I'm ridiculous but the "moment" tells me to feel this way. You can have clarity and yet at the same time the sensitivity of a moment can be so great that you can't see beyond your own soaking eyes that reflect some obscure amber version.

Emotions, humility and feelings work that way, I suppose. They do not obey.

Skid Row, Los Angeles

One of the most pleasurable experiences is being pleasantly surprised by a person while meeting unexpected people in unexpected places.

MNM

Our apartment leasing consultant is Mel and the week we met him happened to be his first week on the job. Nice guy whom we saw and spoke with several times over the course of viewing the potential home and signing the lease.  

I can be a bit sarcastic and personable, so we got to know each other pretty quickly.  He talked about clubbing and skydiving, and by first looks he looked like a typical happy guy who likes to have a good time.

The day we moved in he handed us our keys and said, "Hey, I have this charity called, Monday Night Mission, find me on facebook and friend me and the project." I thought it was great and looked him up right away.  

I guess I don't know alot about Mel except he has a thing for Dora Explorer, good sense of humor, proud to be Sri-Lankan, loves sky-diving and laughs alot...and apparently likes helping people.

SKID ROW

About 6 months ago Mel began Monday Night Mission. As he was driving home from a night of clubbing and debauchery he found himself lost in downtown Los Angeles, right in the middle of Skid Row. He had never been there before.

Shocked by what he saw he quickly stopped at the closest fast food spot, ordered 10 sandwiches and went back to hand them out. He could only feed 10. He felt ashamed standing among the disappointed faces.  

The next weekend he decided to gather a couple of buddies to feed more, but simultaneously worried that his friends would feel the disappointment when the time came to say, "I have no food left".  

He came across Mother Theresa's saying, "If you can't feed 100, feed one" so that week he gathered 3 of his friends and gave out 72 sandwiches.

With the coined phrase, "People don't live on Skid Row, they die on Skid Row" the 52 block enclave is known as the homeless capital of the United States - projecting anywhere from 4,000-11,000 "residing" homeless, depending on the census year. The number of homeless on any given night in Los Angeles County has reached 90,000.

For many people living in Los Angeles, Skid Row embodies the phrase "out of sight, out of mind". Beneath the land of endless opportunity, beaches and the Hollywood scene underscores the issue of cardboard boxes and tents lining the streets each night, until sun-rise when they are forced out by the police.

The homelessness, drug abuse, prostitution, violence and mental illness that continue to thrive on Skid Row has successfully been tucked away within this 52-block concentration of shelters, missions and other social services. As a result, it has remained out of the eyes, ears and minds of the majority of Los Angeles residents.  

This Skid Row area was once known as the agricultural hub after railroads were introduced to the area in the 1870's and a station was built just blocks away from Skid Row’s center. 

With railroads came the industrialization of agriculture. With agriculture meant work was seasonal and short-term, and therefore, so were the workers. With railroads, means transient culture and crews would lay over near the downtown railroads.  Hotels, bars and brothels popped up in the area to entertain and support the single, adult male population stepping off at the railroad station who worked for brief bursts throughout the year.

During the Great Depression that overtook the 1930's, LA became a promised land for the millions of the unemployed and broken down. For the displaced farmers and migrants.  Many from midwest and south rode the railroads to LA only to find there was no work there. Much of the elderly hobos are the base population currently residing there.

In the 60's the area went from the temporary worker community and Great Depression victims to a resting ground for Vets returning with addictions and deeply set trauma. Unable to re-emerge with society they retreated to Skid Row as a haven.

Prior to 90's recession the landscape was primarily single and male, but now it has taken on a new look once again - growing in numbers of single family, particularly single moms and children.

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Monday Night Mission

Every Monday Mel gathers people to give out food to those turned away from Skid-Row shelters.

Midnight Mission is one of the oldest continuously operating human services organizations in the Los Angeles region with 95 years of opening their doors to those in need. But, even they have limitations and have to turn people down, only allowing 95 people in a night.  Mel wanted to feed those that are turned away. His cause, Monday Night Mission, is not funded nor given food or supplies. It's just Mel gathering people on a Monday night and volunteering on the streets.  

Monday the 5th was Labor Day, a holiday, but rather than drinking beers and causing a ruccus with his buddies, Monday Night Mission was still in play.

Jason and I decided to participate. The cause is great and I felt compelled to show up and support his passion.  

The usual schedule?

Anyone who wants to participate meets up Monday at 7:45pm in the Burger King parking lot at 700 West Cesar E. Chavez Ave, Los Angeles, less than a mile from skid row. 

As we pulled up to park there were other cars already waiting. As more started to trickle in we all got out of our cars and Mel was there to direct us. He had us all get in a circle to introduce ourselves.  That night he had 40 volunteers show up. I was really surprised. One very passionate person was able to reign in that many people. Mel isn't attached to any big organization name, nor was his kindness due to an organized church event telling him to do so. It was on his own and because he saw a need he decided to help in any capacity he could. Most people see need, but fewer take the initiation. I guess that is what I wanted to support.

First thing I noticed right away about Mel was his ability to remember everyone's name.  Every time someone new showed up to the parking lot he would go around the circle and list everyone's name - names of people he had just met that night.  

I don't know about you, but I have trouble remembering names, especially if it is our first time meeting and especially if I'm meeting 39 people at once. Mel introduced everyone and explained what the protocol of the night would be.  He also wanted his cause to be about introducing other people's causes and introduced me, what my condition was and the organization, ARM, that is  trying to propel HIBM treatment to the surface. He explained to his fellow leasing consultants in the crowd that though most of them try to avoid his tenants but we were tenants that he actually wanted to know. I was really touched. I was touched that he cared enough to expand my plight to his social circle and encouraged them to spread it to his social circle. I'm touched that he goes out of his way to think of ways to fundraise for HIBM and I've only known him a couple weeks. 

Skid Row

The plan of action was to carpool from Burger King lot, follow him in a single file and park right in front on San Pedro Street, the center of Skid Row. Then quickly hop out, stack the food and start handing it out. The whole giving process would take 40-45 min. For many this was their first time with Mel or doing charity work in general.  He told everyone to not to be afraid, nor expect a "thank-you".

I believe 8-10 cars packed pulled out of the Burger King parking lot took a right onto Cesar Chavez, a right onto Broadway, a left on first street and a right on S. Pedro street. All 8-10 cars pulled up one by one, single file in front of the crowds of Skid Row residences. We were about 4-5 cars back from Mel and it took us a little longer to get on the sidewalk because of the wheelchair, but as I rolled up, as quick as that, Mel and team had already piled up cases of water bottles to be used as a barrier, and stationed bags of food behind.  

Mel was agile and alert. He used himself as a human shield and directed all the volunteers to line up behind him as he coralled the starving crowd. The crowd seemed to know the drill. Get in a line or no food.  As soon as they did their duty we did ours right on the sidewalk, right next to where they sleep.  

One particular situation stood out in my mind. A young homeless guy, my age, started yelling at an elderly gentleman who was not following the rules. Mel stopped the giving process and told him to get back in line so that we could proceed.

The young gentleman yelled, "Come on guys! Get the fuck back into line, let's all work together or we won't get fed".

Mel said the first couple weeks when he started giving out food they had to search for people and tell them to take food. Not every homeless person is looking for a handout.  But, week after week as Mel and his friends showed up, the homeless community knew the consistency and the drill and followed accordingly.

I was really impressed with Mel. He was confident, in command, deliberate and keeping watch knowing that it wasn't the safest of situations in the streets.  He called us volunteers up by name to give with our hands. One, to give drinks, one to give sandwiches, one  to give cookies, chips or fruit.

Despite the chaos he made it a point to make sure every volunteer that had showed up in that Burger King parking lot was able to go to the front of the line and literally hand an item of food to homeless receivers. That was something that really impressed me. That he cared enough, and knew the names of every volunteer, to make sure everyone that had showed up physically gave from their own hand. He even brought up one of the volunteer's son to come up. I loved that.  How awesome of a mom to expose her young 8 year old child to charity and those that are less fortunate.

There is nothing worse you can do for your child then spoil them and give them everything. There is nothing better you can do for your child then make them work for what they receive in life and show them those that struggle.

The food was being passed fast and the block filled up with people while the glaring red of ambulance sirens blanketed the streets and our ears.

Then it was my turn and with every sandwich or drink I passed out I could feel the strain in my shoulder and arm but did my best to place it into their hand while making sure to look each one directly in the eye. At one point I was carelessly rolling outside our densely populated volunteer crowd and Mel verbally pushed me back into the line. I hadn't realized the danger of the situation, I guess.  I mean, I knew it was dangerous, but wasn't as timid as I should have been.

As the food was nearing its end Mel screamed out to the volunteers behind him, "Everyone get into your car-food is running out!"

And that was that, in guerilla form-as quick as we came, we single-filed out of Skid Row leaving behind 200 people that were turned down from the shelter but now fed. We left the red sirens filling the San Pedro street and headed back to the Burger King parking lot.

For every face there is a story

I was very impressed by Mel. It's really hard giving up every single Monday night for someone else let alone groups of people whom you don't personally know.  It's hard being the head of a nonprofit and seeking volunteers. It's like a 24 hour job of begging people to help, lots of responsibility and accountability. I know from experience. While most of us spend our time running from responsibility and accountability some run towards it.

Prior to going, I wasn't quite sure what to expect from Mel's Monday Night Mission.  I have worked in  many homeless shelters but this was slightly different than what I had done in the past. This was right in the streets and not in an enclosure.  

For Jason, my husband, this was his very first charity act, besides standing alongside me for all the ARM mayhem.  

For me, I'm actually quite versed in homeless shelters.  I had done a ton of volunteering when I lived in Detroit. I didn't even tell my parents because I thought they would be scared for me.  I used cook and give out food in a shelter,  paint houses in low income areas and even a driver in a program that transports drug addicts to their monthly injections in clinics located in impoverished areas. I actually didn't grow up being taught to volunteer or be kind with service to others. It wasn't a normal event in my household yet something I searched for and was curious about. I don't think my parents ever took us to a charity or homeless shelter but growing up I knew that was something I wanted my future kids to learn and know about.  Nothing good comes from sheltering your kids from what is common for many.

My brothers and I grew up in decent income, Michigan white suburbia. We were fairly sheltered. Detroit was not somewhere we visited as kids. But I moved there for college and for four years I involved myself as a volunteer within the community and had experience from other volunteer organizations I worked with outside of Detroit. 

I liked that Mel didn't judge those who put their hands out for food who weren't even homeless. He gave without judgement.  

It's easy for us to say, "Well, they are addicts, lazy..." and while that may be true for some, not everyone can get out of their situation.

As a country we treat drug addiction like a crime and offer no real culture or programs in treating addiction. We don't treat those with mental illness. We send men and women to war, many of them proxy business wars, and when they return with PTSD, mental illness and develop addiction as a coping measure - unable to work - we allow them to live in the streets uncared for. And when I say "we" I mean government on both sides of the aisle. Corrupt politicians famously exploit the most impoverished areas, making it even harder to climb out of poverty. Corrupt politicians push favorable policies for corporations and the greedy, making the taxpayers pay for corporations employees' medical and living, like Walmart does, while corporations receive welfare and tax breaks, getting richer. We also have the  most corrupt and expensive healthcare system in he world. The top three reasons for bankruptcy is medical expenses, job loss and divorce. Corruption is hard for any normal community to move beyond but when you're poor it's ten times harder.

My point is poverty is not all laziness. It's also a derivative of badly allocated money, systemic corruption and a sense of selfish greed who buy their way into making laws work for the few at the top. 

Poverty and homelessness is not so black and white and it doesn't represent every person in the situation. Not everyone is as fortunate.

There are multiple reasons people find themselves homeless.  

For many it is a perpetual cycle. They were born into abuse, homelessness, addiction, mental disability, physical disability. An injury, an illness, a fire, or a car wreck can send people hurtling over the edge. If you're life is shit you're going to turn to drugs/alcohol to cope and that becomes your spiraling downfall.  I mean, come on most of LA is on drugs or intoxicated, many of them privileged individuals that came from privileged backgrounds, to deal with problems that don't eve match real struggles. The only difference is they have someone to bail them out and support their lifestyle.

There are even reports of police from other jurisdcitions dumping their mentally ill into Skid Row because their city just isn't equipped with services to take care of their citizens. Many mentally ill swarm the streets without understanding or care because we don't want to be near anything we don't understand or are afraid of.

Five, six, seven years ago there weren’t any plans to gentrify Skid Row with condos and lofts that sell for $700,000 or more with a Grand Hotel a few blocks away.  The rich don’t want the homeless to be in their neighbors and so the homeless in Skid Row are now getting pushed aside.

Solutions for dealing with the homeless on Skid Row: arrest and jail them for any minor infraction, from littering, for public urination, for sleeping on the sidewalks. It’s a strategy that wins the applause of the business community and real estate developers. As a result of this strategy, city jails are bursting at the seams with the homeless and cannot take in any more. County services for this population have been scaled back, and charitable organizations are severely understaffed.

LA is also quietly shipping Skid Row homeless and dropping them off in San Bernardino because they make the new Cosmopolitan Downtown LA look bad.

Veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan are finding themselves living on the streets faster than those who served in previous conflicts, including Vietnam.

Shannon, a soldier from 1957, got hit by a bus and sent his current injury spiraling down even further as he lays on the street next to another disabled man who is rolling dice with the rodents.  

Kenyon with spinal infections and kidney failure unable to pay her medical bills or Daniel who used to work as a manager in retail stores for nearly two decades, but after suffering herniated disk in 1988 had to have surgery and was out of work for four years. After returning to work he was diagnosed with a tumor in his back and told he could not continue working.  He went from making $70,000 a year to being homeless because of a herniated disk.  His career was built around walking and lifting and once that ceased he had no options. He and his daughter are both now homeless.

Khadijah grew up in the streets of Skid Row along with her mother and sister. At the age of 6 they began moving from Skid Row shelter to shelter. Attending 12 different schools in 12 years she is someone who appreciated and understood the value of working for her education and is now a Harvard student. But not everyone can get out like this.

Ron Roberson came from an abusive household, tortured, in and out of foster homes and resulting in his own addiction to crack cocaine, despair and then homeless in Skid Row where he went to die. Today he is an Anchor for CNN headline news. But again, not everyone can do this. 

These are real people and real stories that landed unsuspecting people into homelessness.

The problem is complex and there is no simple or quick solution.

People always tell me, "Don't expect anything from people", which is true, but underneath what I do hope for is for them to want to expect more from themselves.  There is so much potential wasted, with fear as the triggering culprit.

You don't have to help the homeless or a rare disease cause but give yourself to something outside yourself. It's important and you may just save someone's life, both literally and figuratively.

If more guys like Mel gathered their friends to help someone for one night rather than party, think of what could be done.  What Mel is doing isn't going to solve the gamut of the problem and may not save the receivers' life, but at least on that Monday night the natives know that more than 30 people are showing up with warm food, water, some clothes and showing that they are not only thankful for their own lives but extending their gratitude by passing it along.

Mel's Monday night Mission is serving on Monday AND  NOW Thursday night.  For more info visit their page: Monday Night Mission

The measure of any society is how they treat their weakest element. How we do anything is how we do everything.

UPDATE: Monday Night Mission now volunteers 5 nights a week and Mel gives up every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday night for Skid Row.