Blame Canada

Well, I say 'at last' in the sense that it usually comes earlier, not in the sense that I've been praying for it to come. But, anyway, here it is - the first snowfall of the year, scraping ice off my windshield (that's 'windscreen' to you English folks), and, eventually, shovelling the driveway.

Remember how I said that seasons change with astonishing speed in this country? There are 20 bags of leaves waiting for collection outside our house. I picked them up on Tuesday, when it was fall. Now they're covered in 2 inches of snow.

So it's completely freezing outside - and what better time to close an emergency shelter? That's right, from December 5th people aren't going to be able to sleep at our shelter any more, because of lack of funding. Good old Canadian government. Overnight accommodation is only one service the shelter offers, so I still have a job (so don't worry about me) but lots of people called the place home and now they have to go somewhere else. These other places (Salvation Army and others) also have older homeless people staying, who tend to be a very bad influence on the young people (teaching them how to panhandle and score cheap crack, I suppose).

So that's not good - although at least it'll make people look harder for permanent accommodation. It's out there, but it's also very hard for people from unstable backgrounds to hold down.

Anyway, talking of the Salvation Army (spot the tenuous link!), Guys and Dolls is going very well. We did a run last weekend, and there's two more weekends to go. As soon as I get photos of me in my uniform, I'll stick them here for all to see : ) And even though it seems to be taking over my life at the moment, I'm already looking at the next show. There's auditions in January for...wait for it...My Fair Lady!! Considering I'm probably the only person for miles around who can do posh and Cockney with any level of conviction, I'm definitely in with a chance. Now if only I can train my voice to hit a top A...

The only other thing to mention is my ongoing battle with newspaper editors. What is the point of being freelance and pitching stories if no-one ever responds to your ideas?? It just drains your motivation and self-respect after a while. Joe constantly tells me I have to sell myself, but my question is - what good is selling yourself when no-one will buy?

I just realised I haven't blogged for three weeks - time flies when you're crazily busy! Apologies to the regular readers, and thanks if you haven't given up yet.

Latest news...um...went for a job at the Hamilton Spectator and didn't get it...but that's ok because I'm still freelancing for them, plus writing the newsletter for the shelter and stuff for the Grimsby News...and every spare minute has been spent rehearsing for Guys and Dolls, which opens in 8 days.

I'm also helping the director of the shelter write a book - at the rate we're going, it should be published in, ooh, ten years. But it's still a good experience. To be honest, I've only been working there four months and I could write a book already.

Take Joe (no, not my husband Joe). He saw one of my articles in the Spectator the other day. The Spec is also doing a series on poverty at the moment, so he said:

"You should write about me. I've worn the same clothes for two months."

I should point out that this guy often embroiders the truth. But, to be honest, I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him in different clothes. And he definitely sleeps in a bank machine every night (you know, where the hole in a wall is in a little room with a sliding door). This guy is seriously poor. Not that he has no income, it's just that he spends all of it on crack.

I keep trying to imagine what kind of life he must have had before he fell into the abyss. Probably not much of one - it's probably why he stepped over the edge in the first place. I was trying to persuade him to get a flu shot today, saying if he didn't get a shot, his health could get
much worse.

"I hope it does," was his only reply. This is one of the few guys in the shelter where I find it hard to see a glimmer of hope in his situation.

Karl is another one, a classic addict. He always claims he’s given up drinking, or pot, or magic mushrooms, but then finds an excuse to go back onto them. Here are some examples: “I quit drinking for eight days, which means I can probably do it every so often and it won’t cause any harm.” “I quit smoking pot.” “I took magic mushrooms and wrote the experience down, so I’ll know how bad it is and never do it again.” (He was back in hospital the next day). “I’m smoking pot because it helps me stay off the mushrooms.”

Another guy keeps coming in with pot and 'shroom hangovers, and I said I thought he'd given up drugs: "Nah, that was just the crack and stuff," he replied. Oh well - even giving up crack is an amazing achievement. I'd imagine the first smoke is like tripping into the Grand Canyon, and getting unhooked is like crawling back up with two broken legs.

So there's always a reason to be upbeat. Most of the people at the shelter are guys, and lately I've developed a maternal streak where I’ve been baking cookies for them and mending their stuff. One guy had a black shirt with a Lego logo on it which he thought (and I agreed) was distinctly uncool. He had a patch to cover it up, so I sewed it on for him. It wasn’t until he apologized for the pentagram and upside-down crosses on it that I even noticed what it was, but it really doesn't bother me. And every time he's seen me since he's told me how cool everyone says his vest looks now : )

And everyone was really proud of me when my story was published in the Spectator the other day - one guy even asked if he could have a copy! So the people there are starting to feel a bit like family - and no matter how hopeless your family members are, you still stick by them and help them out.