My Home vs the Shelter --Part 4

I had forgotten how important it is. I take it for granted. But the four walls that surround me, and the roof that protects me, are such precious gifts. My house is my home.

I take my home for granted. Within my home, I brood amongst piles of clothes. I bump into furniture in my path, cursing the inane inanimate objects.

When I leave, I turn the key in the lock, and walk away--never thinking of returning to my home in any different state than I have left it.

When I've been without cable television because of some problem in the lines, I grow irritated, and growl at the inept state of today's technology.

When the water doesn't come out of the faucet fast enough to make lots of bubbles in the tub, I mumble to myself of my great misfortune, and swallow a gargantuan gulp of German wine to quell the beast within.

When I sweat because I've been active indoors, and I must wait for the central air conditioning unit to labor to its appointed thermostatic designation, I think I'm feeling the fires of hell.

What a grotesque perspective I have on the world!

This prima donna is ashamed!

To be without a home is unimaginable to me. I crave, I relish, I possess stuff . . . therefore I am?

What would I be without a home?

I hear of monks, and other spiritual people, who live with no earthly possessions. I receive e-mail daily, with inspirational tidbits from the Bhagavad-Gita. For a few minutes, I may think of "spiritual stuff."

The path my life has taken is wonderous, should I stop to think about it. There were so many times I faced a situation of doing this or doing that. In each case, whichever one I chose put me on the path I walk today.

I admire those who capture the moment in words.

Robert Frost (1874–1963), Written 1920

"The Road Not Taken"


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I always liked Robert Frost's poems--about things like roads, fences, fire, and ice. The man whose image is captured in President John Fitzgerald Kennedy's inaugural address, seems so frail and decrepit.

Our eyes lure us into a world full of illusion.


I picked Jay up from the shelter tonight. He needed to retrieve some personal possessions. The black plastic bag he carried back to his temporary home contained minimal accouterments. The bag wasn't that full.

As I waited for Jay to officially sign out for a couple of hours on pass, I looked towards Bachman Lake. The blue waterswept wind cooled my sweaty body from the 97 degree summer Texas heat. I walked carefully across the dark damp dirt, placing my feet on small patches of grass, avoiding spots of muddy muck left behind by recent rain.

Two Sunshine Coach vans were parked on the asphaulted area. Later Jay told me that he had been on lots of field trips. Every day was a field trip. The residents of the Casa Shelter, all under age 18, had been on field trips to a museum and to a local animal shelter.

Jay and my big affectionate hound dog, "Elvis," had hit it off from the start. Jay would lay on the floor, and my gigantic pup stood over him, smothering him in doggie kisses. Jay turned his head from side to side, with no possibility of escaping good old drooley dog slobber.

Jay laughed as "Elvis" jumped across his head, over his stomach, and bounced about on the gray carpet on which Jay lay. The more Jay laughed, the more energetic and playful "Elvis" became.

Jay had expressed an interest in working with animals at the zoo, or for a veterinary clinic. After seeing the condition of the animals in the shelter, he said he didn't want to work at an animal shelter anymore. Jay had lots of compassion for the animals.

The branch of the city animal shelter felt emotionally cold. Animals without homes barked, whined, in their soiled cages, seeking some sort of food or affection. Jay had a knowing look on his face.

Home is more than a concept, but there is life without home. It's more than a news item.