Even a sleepy dog knows...

...helping out is good for your soul.


First, thank you one and all very much: I’ve gotten a lot of very kind and gracious comments and emails about a couple of recent posts, and I wanted to say that I greatly appreciate hearing from you before I crashed for a few hours.

Second – and the reason I’m posting this instead of answering in the comments – is that I apologize for the delay and brevity in responding: I'm involved along with many, many, many others in some volunteer efforts to prep for the arrival of displaced people from NOLA. Chicago is expecting anything from a few hundred to several thousands, and like everywhere else they're coming here straight from the killing floor of Hell on Earth.

It's not rescuing people from floodwaters or medevacing people to safety. Nothing at all dangerous or heroic: just the little things that need to get done, and it's been a very long day, but I'm sleeping in my own bed tonight, I have hot water, a stocked fridge, my friends and relatives are alive and whole and no one is shooting at me, so I've got it pretty fucking sweet, all things considered.

If you live in anything like a large metro area, odds are you'll be seeing refugees soon. A lot of them. And they didn’t just lose their houses or their cars or their kin.

They lost their whole world.

Their lost their "old home place".

They lost the kitchen that smelled like mom, and the chair still haunted by the faint perfume of grandpa’s pipe.

They lost their city.

They lost their motherland.

They lost their ability to have a moment alone – all alone -- to just cry. And they can’t drop by the neighbor's house to steal a minute of peace and sanity, because every single one of their neighbors have been swept into the maelstrom too, or into the grave.

Hundreds of thousand of people just like you and me – who, but for the Grace of God would be you and me – have no place at all in this wide world to slip off their shoes, take a shower, and know in their bones that they’re safe. That they’re...home.

And for a lot of them, it’s very likely that they’ll never, ever get it back.

These are our brother and sisters. Our aunts and uncles. Our nieces and nephews. They are also our new neighbors, and Jesus Christ do they ever need us now.

So when the fireman walks up to your car window and tips the boot, make it ten bucks instead of five ya’ cheap bastard. Don’t be a rube about it – if the Big Red Firetruck isn’t parked within eye-shot, ask for an ID – but make it count.

And you get to walk around all day feeling righteously damned good about yourself; for the price of a six-pack, you get to swagger around feeling like a million, so how terrific a deal is that?

And most importantly, if you can, drop by the United Way office, or Red Cross, or just call up your City Hall and ask how you can help.

Give ‘em your money -- tell your kids this is where the Christmas fund is going this year and tell them why.

Give 'em your time -- even if you can’t pound a ten-penny nail into butter without fucking it up, a lot of these folks are just gonna want to have someone to talk to. To read “Goodnight Moon” to their child so they can take a nap and know that their baby is safe.

So go ahead and ask if they need another pair of hands.

I'll just bet you they do.