The Writing Group

Christmas

It was a dark and stormy Christmas eve, and all of the reindeer were sick with hoof and mouth disease. Santa was in a bustle. (He was also …….., but that’s beside the point). How would he get presents to all the good little boys and girls – all ten of them? He tried rounding up cats, but that was as difficult as, well – rounding up cats. He tried wolves, but they were all on the street corner whistling as the girls went by. He thought of dogs, but they were dog-tired.

And then, a light bulb flashed in his head! Momentarily blinded by the light, Santa cried, “For Godssake, Rudolph stop taking my picture with that G.D. camera!” But Rudolph had given him

an ……….

“Quick”, he told his wife, “call Sydney!”

“Who’s Sidney”, asked Mrs. Claus.

“No, no, not the person, but Sidney the city. The one in Australia”.

“But where in Sidney?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about the city zoo?”

So Mrs. Claus called the Sidney local zoo and handed the phone to her husband.

“Hello, Sidney Zoo? How many Koala bears do you have?”

“Oh, Criky, Mate, I don’t know. A couple of dozen I guess”.

“Well, round up a dozen of your best, and I’ll pick them up tonight.. I’ll make sure you get a good present under your Kangaroo, if you do.”

“OK, Mate, you got it. Just one question. How will I know which Koala to put out?”

Santa though for a minute. “Go to the …….bush trees and pick those who live in upper branches. Then put …….. on them.”

“OK. Whys that?”

“That way I’ll get highest Koala-trees”

“…….”

and that’s how all 10 children got their presents that year.

~Rick Wile

The Writing Group: Foreword

The people who contributed to this collection of pictures, poetry and prose range roughly in age from thirty to eighty. Some live or have lived in the Tedford Shelter or in their cars or in tents in the woods; some live in subsidized housing. Some are unemployed; some live on disability checks; some have part time or seasonal jobs; others are retired.

What we all have in common is The Gathering Place at 5 Tenney Way, Brunswick, which is open Monday through Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. for coffee, snacks, companionship, cards, puzzles and on Thursday afternoons for writing.

Over the past four years, I’ve hosted anywhere from one to a dozen writers who have shared stories, laughed (a lot), and cried (a little). I usually throw out a general topic—the first, as I recall, was “Scars,” and the latest, as I write this, was “Doors I have Walked Through--- although people can (and do) write about anything that is on their minds. Some of the topics I’ve given will be self-evident as you read; other topics won’t matter: what’s important is the response. Some of the pieces have been edited from grammar and spelling, but we’ve tried to maintain the original voice and content.

When we first began writing four years ago, some people thought we were having an English class, so they moved as far away from our table as they could; when we began sharing what we’d written, however, they can back, at first to listen, and then over the next few weeks, to join us.

Why? For many of us, writing is a way to make sense of the world, especially when our minds are looping around a particular problem. What I’ve also learned is that all of us need to be heard—listened to, respected—especially if we’ve fallen on hard times and feel that no one care anymore.

What else have I learned over the past four years? Probably the most important thing is that despite common stereotypes, homelessness and poverty have many faces, many voices and that both homelessness and poverty go far beyond not having a physical place to live or a specific job to get to. “Homeless” might mean losing a job that has given you an identity for twenty years, losing a spouse, a child or a friend, losing your health. “Poverty” may mean any number of spiritual or emotional deprivations.

Someone once said that going into The Gathering Place, he couldn’t tell who was a volunteer and who was a client. Four years of writing and listening to stories have shown me that’s because there really isn’t that much of a difference between any of us.

--Rick Wile
Writing Group
The Gathering Place