How I live, Part 6: You can learn a lot from homeless people.

[ambitious_wench]

Part 1 can be found here
Part 2 can be found here
Part 3 can be found here
Part 4 can be found here
Part 5 can be found here

Let's get back to why I'm writing this series. Just now I read a neat little tip on making a hanging basket to hold electronic doo-hickies while they are charging.

Lifehacker is a favorite place to get my RDA of brain-fertilizer; While I really haven't put much of their suggestions to direct use, I find that reading them definitely inspires me to think in terms of hacking my own living style.

"Reduce, Reuse, Repurpose, and as a last resort, Recycle".

One thing I've noted here in Yosemite is a tendency for folks to horde things. Remember the lady I spoke of, a potential roommate that had so much stuff in the room that there wasn't enough for me? That is very common here. When I was fired, I had to move out of my dorm room, and I realized that I had a lot of stuff. George Carlin said that houses are piles of stuff with a cover.

I love the internets. I just found a video of George Carlin's monologue "Stuff".

Watching this just now made me realize just how much his humor had an effect on my attitude about how I live now.

"If you didn't have so much god damn stuff, you wouldn't need a house. You could just walk around all the time". How true that is.

So here I was with all this stuff. I had to make several trips down to Mariposa, including the use of my landlady's truck. That got me to thinking; What do I really need?

In a nutshell, I need shelter, seasonally appropriate clothes, clean water, food and a means of cooking and eating it, companionship, entertainment, and a means of being creative/productive.

The trick is separating what I need from what I want. I need a computer. I want a desk and chair to use my computer. I need a shelter from the elements--for me, and my computer. That shelter has to be large enough to hold me, my bed, and my desk, and my clothes, my camera gear, my books, music, my coffee and coffee pot, my cups, sugar and creamer. It also holds my pictures, both on display and stored.

What if I had only an hour to leave my shelter? What would I take? I'm still working on that list. I do know this; regardless of where I am going, I need my clothes, my computer, my camera gear, and my cookware. The rest (with some exceptions, obviously) I'd jettison. Desks and dressers are everywhere. They are too heavy to carry, too bulky to fit in my car.

Eventually, I want to identify the stuff I really need; and I want it all to fit in my car. I doubt that I will get rid of everything else--the idea is to identify before I have to, so that should there be a flood, I can pack up and go within one hour. Leave the rest behind.

Remember how news articles used to be written? The first paragraph of a story had the 5 W's +1 H. Who/What/When/Why/Where and How. This originated during the Civil war, and the means of transmitting stories was by telegraph wire. Since wires could be cut at any time, the transmission began with the most important information. Important stuff first. What's the first thing I'd load into my car? Clothes and cooking gear/food. Down sleeping bag. Blankets, pillows, sheets. Tent. Backpack. Then my computer stuff. Then my Camera stuff. Then toiletries. Then books. Music. Then my photo prints.

I have a friend here in the valley who was homeless for many years before coming to work here. She said that even though she lived in a tent, she always was clean. I asked how you take a shower when you don't have a house; She said friends, shelters, and if it came to it, streams and spigots. "When you gotta wash the cootch, you gotta wash the cootch!". I've learned a lot from homeless people.

I once took pictures of a lovely Zen shrine/garden in employee housing up in Tuolumne Meadows lodge. I met the man who created it, and offered him some small prints of the shots I took; He declined because he felt it would make him hold on to something he meant to be temporary at best. He's built it every year I've visited up there, using the same elements, but each time it's different. "He works on it every day", one of his neighbors said.

His name is Allan, and he lives here in Highland Court. I see him outside smoking often. He is a quiet man. I recently found his chair in amongst some trees on the far side of the parking lot, beyond the bear-proof dumpsters. I asked him if it was his, he said yes, it gave him a peek at Yosemite Falls. I asked if I could sit in it, he said sure.

It's a folding chair, and there's a cushion wrapped in a plastic bag against the rain and snow and dew. In the arm is a pocket for a drink cup; it's full of cigarette butts.

I sat in it, looked up. Perfectly framed between the trees is Yosemite Falls.

What king in his gilded throne has a better view?


How I live, Intermission: Slide Show time!

Comments

[scascot.livejournal.com]

I view my list from the perspective of, "What if the building was on fire, and you only had 30 seconds to get out?"

For me, it's easy - After ensuring the wife and animals are out/on their way out, the critical documents lockbox* (you should have one), the external drive** on the Mac, and my wallet. Everything else can be replaced.

But, I have the luxury of homeowner's insurance to replace those things I leave behind.

* Important identity documents (copies of drivers licenses, social security cards, birth certificates, marriage certificate, credit cards) and insurance papers.

** The external drive I'm referring to is my Time Machine drive. It's got hourly backups of everything on my Mac for the past 24, daily for the past month, and monthly to the capacity of the drive.

[xstarfirex.livejournal.com]

It's funny, reading your posts and looking back on the years I spent traveling the country...

I lived in the front cargo area of a horse trailer most of the time, sometimes a tent. I liked the tent because I could stand up in it. I liked the cargo area because I could use a space heater if it got cold enough.

It was me, my boy (eventually my dog), 2 rubbermaid totes that held our clothes, a futon mattress, a tv and an xbox, weaponry, and a tote of mixed entertainment; books, D&D books mostly, drawing pads/pencils, and of course, my camera. No running water. You either peed in a horse stall or one of the portalets that was usually nasty. I usually chose the horse stall, at least when the horses were sleeping in the pasture.

Truck stops had showers, some of the sites had showers, one of them made you pay a quarter a minute, no temperature control, and the water pressure could have scraped the paint off a Buick. But at least you could get clean. Camp showers were a favorite, with a shower stall built of tarps and clothespins and pallets as flooring.

I went through it too, the hoarding of things that you swear you can use somehow. Some of it got put to use, some of it didn't. The only difference was every 2 months we had to move, so it was a purge every two months of stuff you just could not physically jam into your vehicle.

So many people wonder why you would choose to live that way? because I could wake up in the morning, not hear traffic or gunshots or violence. I would shake my boots out, in case somehow a scorpion made a home in them during the night. I would walk out my door, standing up straight for the first time, and breathe in clean air, free of the smell of carbon monoxide and trash and pollution. I would watch the sunrise over the desert, or the forest, or the hills, and hear nothing but the quiet nickering of horses in the distance and birds I couldn't name chirping in the local vegetation. I knew I had a hard days work ahead of me, and maybe my hands were never clean by the time I sat down to eat at night but I have never known peace like I did then.

So, yeah, there are definately hard times, but there are moments like sitting in a chair with a beautiful view of a magnificent waterfall, or climbing up on top of your little horse trailer shack to watch a desert sunset that make living in simplicity living in serenity.

[ambitious-wench.livejournal.com]

You know what I mean, then, Melissa. Hadn't occured to me that you could pee in a horse stall--I'll keep that in mind for the future. Warm and out of the wind, and a bit of privacy besides.

[sunfell.livejournal.com]

When I got out of the USAF, I started accumulating stuff. Having stayed in one place for over a decade has made that accumulation bigger than ever, and I am awash in stuff. I really need to find a home for most of it. I have lots of books- which I feel comfortable surrounding myself with, but also music, movies, clothing, and computers. I have a 'grabbit' list in my head of stuff I'd grab in an emergency- I need to put it on paper, place it in a prominent spot and stage the stuff.

I also have a lot of food- a reaction to a period of severe privation and food insecurity I suffered through near the end of my military career. I'm not a hoarder, but that pantry makes me feel secure.

I expect I'll cycle out of the 'stuff' stage and find some semblance of simplicity- but for the most part, I've come to peace with my accumulative tendancies. For me, and for now, I find comfort in it.

[ambitious-wench.livejournal.com]

You know, Sunfell, it was reading your posts on how you want your own house that got me to thinking; I'll admit that it baffled me. I've been a home owner, and I have no desire to be one again. I'm on the second half of my life now, and the thought of being saddled with a mortgage and the responsibilities of a building that at best is in a state of arrested decay puts me off my feed.

That said, we all find what comforts us; The feeling of security you get from a fully stocked pantry is as valid as the feeling of delight I have when I'm out taking pictures.

Your desire for a place of your own is as valid as my longing for the vista of a white roadway snaking down (or up) a mountain pass.

Edie

[sunfell.livejournal.com]

What I really want is the ability to provide proper hospitality again. I might be an introvert, but I do like company from time to time, and when I was overseas, I was proud of my ability to host things. I still do that here, but my place is so small that I can't do it properly.

I've never owned a home- or even land, and I am beginning to doubt that that will happen. I worry that I might end up being too decrepit too soon to really enjoy it. But I don't regret all the travel I did in the earlier part of my life. I lived overseas for 8 straight years, wandered all over Europe and the UK, and got a lot out of my truncated military career.

My current job gets me out of town at least twice a year, and eventually, I'll be able to afford to travel on my own dime again. I do have cats, though- and I have to consider their needs now.

But I still dream about a cottage with a tangled garden full of good food, with room to entertain friends and the solitude to read, write, and think, and enough adventure to keep things interesting.

[ambitious-wench.livejournal.com]

I think our lives have been inverted; You did your traveling in your youth, I'm doing it in the afternoon of my life. And I hear you about entertaining, and gardening and cats. Entertaining is something I do outside these days; I find myself being a guide to other photographers a lot. I am the Hostess of Horsetail Falls! Gardening and pets, though, I truly miss.

[sunfell.livejournal.com]

I'm going to have to go visit Yosemite sometime. With my camera.

This weekend will be my garden stuff prep weekend. I'm going to get some Earthboxes, soil, and maybe some seedlings and start setting up for the season. I already have catnip, chocolate mint, lemon balm and volunteer basil. I need tomatoes, squash, peppers, and eggplant- and more herbs.

I'm awful at growing flowers, but do great with herbs and some veggies.

I loved the travel in my youth- but hated the poverty. I'm better off now financially, but am chained to the Capitol in the winter. Now that we're doing yearly legislative sessions, I won't be able to take any winter trips.

[ambitious-wench.livejournal.com]

If you don't mind a cot in my tiny room, you've got a place to bunk. Spring is a good time to visit, as is autumn. Summer is hot and crowded, unless you head up to the high country.

Basil...mmmm.

[ginmar.livejournal.com]

What does a person need? Good question. Huh. A vardo. I'm sure you were expecting that. The basics---food, shelter, warmth, friends. Music. Books. Creative expression. How would you condense that? Hm. Good question. If I had to condense, I'd keep my kitties, my beloved little desk, my computers, cameras, art supplies, blankets, pillows.....Huh. A futon for the built-in bed in the vardo, flannel sheets, warm socks.....This is interesting. Windows. Peace and quiet. Friends. Something comfortable to sit on. And when you have a tiny space to live in, to make you feel safe, you'd have to get out and go, meet people, experience life, and that's a violation of the recent American tendency to lock one's self into one's McMansion, in a suburb without sidewalks, in a house without porches.