Ken S.

I just heard that Ken S. passed on, quite peacefully, yesterday.

Ken was a client at one of the group homes that I have worked at for quite a few years.

Ken was endlessly polite, sometimes, infuriatingly polite. He did exactly what he wanted to do and when he wanted to do it, despite what staff may have wanted for him. He always held his own in the group home hierarchy with all comers.

He had an amazingly loud voice and a sly sense of humour. He had an endless curiosity about the goings on within the group home....whether it concerned him or not. He was funny that way and much like all of us. A snoop and a gossip.

He carried himself with dignity, even in the most undignified of moments. I remember once when he had an embarassing moment and when his roommate relentlessly pointed out the cause of Ken's embarassment, he didn't get angry or sulk in silence, but he politely, firmly and repeatedly asked his friend (let's call him Mac), 'to please not say that. Please.' And then he trundled on.

I won't forget the unique way in which he held a glass or mug full of liquid; his long skinny fingers only just managing to wrap themselves around the container and then pointing out and away. Or the way he cleared his throat. The difficulties he had in getting into and out of a chair and the stride in which he seemed to take all the changes related to age which were overtaking him.

He really was unique. A real character. An old fart with a big heart. I am richer for having known him and the world is poorer for having lost him.

Creative Thursdays

I love to visit this blog when I can....Creative Thursdays

Just Be Yourself
Marisa Haedike

Pitfalls of Love

Everytime you invite me over to your place, its the same. You watch TV while I sit on your couch with shoes and jacket still on. You fall asleep and then I will myself numb. I say, "I guess I should go now."

I stand and walk, nose first, into your front door. I walk right through it. Nose broken, forehead bleeding, fat lip. Splinters have scratched a red border all around my body. I plod on.
Halfway down the hall is a large glass pane. It has letters stencilled on it: "Warning: Glass Pane." Another reads...I walk right through it.

I am cut. Bleeding. Glass settles to the ground, shards vie for my attention. A piece of stencilled glass lands in my shirt pocket. I pull it out and read, "...ass." I put it back in my pocket.

Now, you poke your head out of your door and say, "drive carefully." I nod my head and fail to see elephant trunks reaching up and sniffing the air at my feet.

Unpacking

After I've gone to the ones I love. Those who pack my ears full of putty, wet cotton and foam from aerosol cans meant for insulation. After the heels of their feet, tucked firmly into their boots, jam this stuff in -- shoving, cramming, stamping. Then, and only then, do I come to your room and hear the silence to which I am otherwise, inexplicably, oblivious.

Everybody Knows (2)

Excerpt from an article in the Toronto Star on July 7, 2009:

A groundbreaking study, to be released today, estimates that about one in four black, single parents and households on social assistance face moderate to severe discrimination in Toronto's tight rental market. The same is true for South Asians.

For those with a mental illness, more than one-third face discrimination when they inquire about available apartments, the study found.

"Even when rental housing is available, thousands of marginalized individuals and families cannot make it through the door," says the report by the Centre for Equality Rights in Accommodation.

...

The study, one of the largest and most comprehensive of its kind in Canada, was funded through a $90,000 grant from the Atkinson Charitable Foundation.

...

For example, to gauge discrimination against the South Asian man, one caller used a distinct South Asian accent and name, while the second caller had no accent and used a Western European name.

Discrimination against the South Asian man ranged from not having his call returned to being told the unit was already rented when it was still available.

The South Asian man also faced extra application requirements such as being asked for postdated cheques. And 31 per cent of the time, he was offered fewer move-in incentives such as free cable TV, the study found.

Everybody Knows

An Equality and Human Rights Commission report addresses concerns that migrants jump queues when it comes to getting social housing assistance in Britain:

According to the study, 64% of people who arrived in the UK within the last five years live in private rented accommodation.

...

Just 11% of new arrivals get help with housing - almost all of them asylum seekers.

...

But after five years, when many immigrants are able to get residency and become entitled to government help, one in six live in social housing - exactly the same proportion as those who were born in Britain.

...

The report - based on figures from the 2007 Labour Force Survey - was carried out by the centre-left Institute for Public Policy Research think tank.

Everybody knows the deal is rotten

Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton

For your ribbons and bows

And everybody knows

Leonard Cohen

Excerpt from "Everybody Knows"

Us at 12