Starving Relatives

It was earier this month, around the 10th maybe, that I discovered that some of my people back east are having a hard time with this "recession" (euphemism.) Why fill in the blanks? Why say more? Part of me wants to discuss it and part of me doesn't. Suffice it to say that ... I can't go there! They're just having an awful hard time.

Rather, it is my own reaction to their situation that I feel the need to discuss, so here goes. Part of my reaction at first was fear and anxiety. I also sent what little money I could to my sister and wished I could send much more. I asked a Church to help but she doesn't want to talk to the pastor. I put off a topic I'd wanted to explore in my blog (namely, the whole Nicola thing) because it paled in significance next to the immediate reality of my loved ones.

The sequence of events blurs, but it seems to me that the first ray of hope came when I hatched a plan to get some money -- busking (street performing) with my guitar. Then I had a good day and chalked it up to God's help or biorhythm or both. Then I practiced until I got up what seemed like a half hour's worth of material. Then I picked a lousy spot and got no donations except a guitar case and a box wherewith to collect monetary donations. To clarify, these items were donated to me as I walked the 2.5 miles from my apartment to the "lousy spot." There are good spots to be had in Seattle, but I'm told they require a permit. I actually had a good time performing and I didn't do a half bad job, but this isn't a story about my adventures in music; it's an exploration of my reaction to some particularly bad news about my family.

To resume, then, I learned that busking requires an expensive amount of patience, trial and error. It is not the quickest way to make a buck to send back home. Today I went back to looking for jobs and you can bet I'm looking at jobs I would not have considered when I first came to Seattle looking for stepping stones toward a career. (For those who haven't known me long, I've been working clerical jobs through a number of temporary employment agencies, but these dried up in the spring.)

Russ just stirred and turned the TV on loud, so I'll have to wrap this up soon. I guess I've said enough. Let me add; please don't expect me to be thoroughly forthcoming about just how poor I am. I may hint at it but I don't see any reason to be tortuously exhaustive about it. The good news in that regard is that I still own the tiny house on a wooded lot that I bought for the price of a car in better times in Pennsylvania. My sister occupies that right now, and, in her condition, that is very good news for her too.

I hope that later on I will get a chance to talk about my family's experience of the 1980 recession.