1. Mission: Carbon Vessels
Who’d a-thunk it, that an unexpected overnight stay at the local mission would produce such a
yield of explosive life? To say that it was a wake-up call would be an understatement of great
magnitude. To err on the side of judgment would be a waste of self-reflection. How did such a
thing happen? At what point did it begin? Somehow it didn’t seem to matter. There it was,
ready or not.
Eyes puffy from the tears, it seemed pointless to put on a face. A quick backward thrust of the
head helped to throw off the dismay. It appeared that the best thing to do was just put one foot
in front of the other and occupy the mind. Somehow it was comforting to witness others in the
same boat, struggling with their own inability to explain how their situation came to be. The
inescapable puns bring tears of laughter to me now.
Castaway Cove
Twenty minutes must have passed before the police arrived after scaling the hill to the local
waterpark. What would I say, and how would I frame the responses? I decided to heavily filter
the scenario that played out there in the living room before I bailed on foot with only my purse
over the shoulder. I aimlessly made my way down the street past the Love’s Truck Stop and
hung a fast right up that hill. My daughter had never seen me so hopeless and unable to bust a
move in any reasonable direction. I consoled myself with the narrative that fear caused her to

2. raise her voice and drop a few ‘f’ bombs on me. I had it coming. I’d given up, and it frightened
her.
So there I was, doing my best to explain in some coherent fashion what had taken place, and
how I now needed a place to stay for the night. I’d never seemed to recover since losing the
house a few years before. I felt like a castaway on my own sinking vessel. When the verbal
volley had finished with the police, I was driven in the back seat behind the vehicle partition to
pick up a few things from the house, including my youngest daughter who stayed with me at
her sister’s. Then I jumped in one of my daughter’s spare cars I’d recently been driving.
Cold Shower
Somehow the reminder that not just anybody is allowed to stay at the Mission was of no
comfort during check-in. I felt like a crime had been committed on my part, especially since
my things were taken away, bagged, sprayed, and locked in the office overnight. After
suffering an excruciatingly cold shower, my daughter and I were subjected to an unexpected
photo session. How humiliating. The Staff explained why all the precautions were taken, per
protocol, but it still felt like a violation of my pride.
We were issued frumpy clothing, and in them we took off to the nearest apartment complex to
apply for housing. I seriously needed an immediate opening. Sure enough, the rays shone on
Sun Valley that morning. By afternoon the following day, we had the key to a new start. I
cried. All the activity of moving items and heavy furniture from the storage unit caused my
muscles to regain strength. My mind was suddenly active again, focused on new possibilities.
Shady
It was not even a week after moving in that the back windshield was shattered to nothingness
overnight. Oh, yes, I reported it but never expected anyone to come forward as an eyewitness
in this part of town. And they didn’t. I soon returned that spare vehicle to my daughter’s house
and exchanged it for another, the old faithful jalopy. But I refused to live in fear there at 113.
Instead, I purposely made a porch shade for about a week and proudly sewed on the numbers,
outside in view of all the paranoid mini-blind peepers.
Mary Poppins soon became my given name by the new neighbors. They’d seen me carrying in
a large navy polka dotted umbrella. A few weeks passed as I visited outdoors on the porch with
the neighborhood children, making nonsensical crafts out of little of nothing. But, all the while,
the adults were watching. Soon enough, they began strolling by for a bit, one young man even
showing up in his pajamas with a personal cup for a bit of my fresh coffee. Not much longer
after that, there were yard picnics with children of all ages, colors, and genders here at 113.

3. High Regard
Old School made a big impression for the young ones here in their own castaway pads. Most of
the hood can be seen smiling and waving in passing by the porch. This has been the case most
recently since having met a man of high character, though himself in a substandard situation.
Breakfasts, lunches, and dinners here on the porch have all peering out their windows to see
what a courtship really looks like. Date night took place at … (wait for it) … the Lonesum
Dove! Sunday night jam sessions revived an intense love for music on my part. Soon I’ll be
learning to play the bass guitar and joining the gang on stage. Unbelievable!
The relationship with my daughter has improved a hundred-fold. She’s now at ease that Mom
has gotten her groove back. Her smiles are from ear to ear again. My eldest daughter was
surprised to hear that I now travel on the back of a Harley Street Glide throughout the old
familiar lanes here in town and throughout Texas. The peepers have made their way to
daylight, and a high sense of community exists in this once downtrodden complex. I’ve
purposely notified all that they won’t see as much of me in the near future since re-enrolling in
school for my Master’s in Psychology. Perhaps the fire of educational pursuit will catch on,
too. Only time will tell what is to become of our exchanges here at 113.
True investment in others changes lives. Bust a move and light a torch. Folks are always
watching.