Amidst the growing chants of "It's Over", "It's V R Day" and all the rest of the self-affirming conventional wisdom that All Will Soon Be Clover comes this personal reality check;
Yesterday, a beggar showed up at my door.
Here in rural Vermont, the population density is such that it is easy to pretend that all is well. We don't have busy intersections where people try to wipe your windshield for a buck. Our few sidewalks are clear of panhandlers, and I have seen only a handful of people with signs offering day labor. The small village mindset translates to the entire state here, and there is a real sense of responsibility to each other.
Let me illustrate:
When my wife, stepdaughter, and I came to Vermont in the early nineties, we had little money, no savings, and low paying jobs. Our first apartment was two doors down from the local church, and on Thanksgiving morning, we discovered a full Thanksgiving dinner had been placed on our doorstep. Someone or someones, presumably from the congregation, had noticed our circumstances, and did a good deed without claiming any credit, or embarassing us in any way. That act of kindness and caring will stay with me forever.
So when a woman showed up at my back door yesterday (just like they did it during the Depression), I was taken aback. I had been working in my garden and heard her knocking at my neighbor's door, but I assumed she was a family friend with the bad luck to catch no one at home. A few minutes later I was washing the veggies when she knocked on my kitchen door.
I opened the door to a disheveled looking woman who could not make eye contact for more than a split second. I knew immediately this was someone who needed help of some kind, and I felt bad for not going next door earlier. She mumbled something about a can and bottle drive, mumbling even more when she got to the name of the organization she was supposedly collecting for. Now I may be a country boy, but I've seen enough deprivation to know helplessness when I see it. By her dress, overall appearance, and her crushed demeanor, it was readily apparent this woman was not collecting for anyone but herself and her family. But she still had enough pride to at least attempt a little deception. I fault her not.
To ease her obvious discomfort, I quickly handed over all the empties I had, which I keep right next to the door. I then asked if the "drive" was accepting canned goods. She looked even more beaten when she responded in the affirmative. I gave her a half dozen or so from the cupboard, and watched as she lugged her alms to the decrepit Ford Escort she was using to beg door to door.
Then I went back into my paid-for home and had a good cry.