I don’t think I will be finishing any more books this year what with my move and holidays and such. But not only did I reach my goal of 12 books for the 2018 Goodreads challenge, I exceeded it by reading 15. Here are the books I read this year.
Ten days ago I got an eviction notice. I must vacate the home that I have lived in for 26 years to accommodate a relative of the landlords. There was no offer in the letter to help me move, pay expenses or provide a reference attesting to all the years of me being a model tenant; no, simply the statement “we are sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you.” I was less than comforted. This is not an “inconvenience”. This is a life-altering major disruption to my emotional equilibrium and sense of personal security, and the lack of compassion shown in this letter is truly staggering. What they’ve done is all perfectly legal, so there’s not much I can do about it, except bitch and complain. But I won’t spend one more word about this here or anywhere else. I won’t because being evicted is the best thing that could possibly have happened to me
Within 20 minutes of my reading the letter and after making an important phone call, I had a new place secured. I will be moving into an small old house in a great neighborhood with no possibility of ever being evicted again. It needs a lot of work, but for me the house is a mansion.
I totally see the hand of God in this matter. If this house were not available to me, it is quite likely I would be out on the street. People like me, with limited means, can’t afford to live in an area of greed-propelled skyrocketing rents.
And this brings me to this: the greatest blessing in being evicted in this manner is not the fact that I can now live in a house of my own. It is the fact that overnight I developed a better awareness of the plight of the poor and homeless. I know it is a cliché but I can’t help saying “there but by the grace of God go I.” That fact alone places a big responsibility on my shoulders that I cannot ignore anymore. If circumstances had been different, I could be part of a growing demographic.
I don’t know yet what I will do Maybe all I will ever do is hand couple of bucks to the guy shivering under a blanket in front of my local Starbucks. This event definitely will inform how I am going to vote on issues like this in the future. Heck, who knows? I may end up being some sort of activist for renters rights.
But first things first, I need to get packing.
I felt the need of some uber-comfort food after hearing of mass shootings and devastating wild fires, the heart-stopping news of the injury of a key SCOTUS member, the aftermath of a nailbiting election and a demagogue leader throwing a temper tantrum.
And most of that was Wednesday.
So I am making home-made chicken soup from scratch —including the broth. Into a slow cooker I tossed the carcass of a leftover rotisserie chicken, some sad-looking celery and carrots, the standard aromatics, Himalayan salt, peppercorns, parsley and marjoram, and covered all with distilled water. Tonight I willl strain the broth and add the noodles and chicken. From the dismal contents of my refrigerator and pantry shall emerge a soul-lifting pot of goodness and comfort.
Okay, I admit that I may have a bit of a problem with using food as a coping mechanism. We do what we need to do.