KNOWING-10/5/93-Old Man Bum doesn't know I write about him, heck he doesn't even know I think about him, worry about him when it's cold or rainy, care about what his insides look like- even if they are decayed or diseased. Holding on to something old makes sense when it comes from inside, making room for something new to grow as it grows from out of the old. Isn't that what life is all about?

Even within 6 new walls (3 new rooms), 2 new cars (hand me downs or engagement surprise), many new people, and thousands of new street names and roads-a lot stays the same. Familiarity grows with time or shall we say it comes with time; new phone numbers are memorized, new food items are learned and enjoyed while old feelings and desires remain the same. Whatever it is that keeps hope alive and visions in view has kept a lot more known than just tangible things. Would the new walls be unfaithful if I didn't put my trust in them? Would Newport, Kentucky care whether or not I packed and snuck out to N.Y. at 3:00am in the morning9 Do I have to worry about what people think about starting a job and then quitting it? What would old man bum think? I bet he has a name, but doesn't bother with it anyway- it's just another label. He's a person, a living being who has a purpose only to himself. You can tell he thinks this way. I know because after reaching out to him with a blanket, a bag of apples and a loaf of bread he remains a mystery to me. He is a mystery I can watch every day at the bus stop on the corner of 7th and Scott St.

WATCHER OF THE NIGHT- While it is sometimes scary to think about when I'm up on the phone at 3 or 5am, someone is out there, and he is tired, hungry and probably lonely too. Being alert and awake during daylight is his business, sort of like his job or maybe even profession. Whether he is sleeping in a doorway, sitting at the bus stop, or up and about collecting cans, he serves a purpose to himself. To others, it is obvious, he is a nuisance- so his purpose doesn't matter. Or so they think.

Pictures have always made my mind work-association I guess, but for some reason the image of this man won't leave my brain. I think bad things and incredibly sad things about this man and he doesn't even know that I do it.

Being watchful, being patient, and being in love allows the thoughts that trigger my feelings. Even if I were sorry about past mistakes, poor judgement, or harsh words, this time is now.-

10/6/93- BACKGROUNDS. The mauve pink background of the cement wall or doorway seriously blends with the deep maroon shade of his windbreaker. I wonder though, does it compliment the cement wall more than it does blend in? Old Man Bum himself does not blend in with society, infact, a sore thumb wouldn't look more bruised or purple.

I heard about an ad someone read in a church bulletin about a homeless man needing (looking) for a front porch to sleep on- the man was 84 years old, wanted to sleep outside, received a check once a month, etc.,etc. He was just looking for shelter he could use once in a while when it rained and to learn a familiar face in order to have someone to drop in on every now and then. Did I think the ad could possibly be from my friend, Old Man Bum? No, not really, but I guess the possibility was there in order for me to make the connection. Old Man Bum didn't know I existed and from time to time I wondered if he really did.

CHAPTERS- It's about everything that happens in the world. It even happens to you but, it's whether or not you have paid attention to it or not. When you don't pay attention those things seem to stick out or mean the most.

He's just not there anymore-physically. It's been over one week since I last saw, felt, or thought about Old Man Bum. With a new pair of pants and an army blanket to replace my Dad's old roses, and an operation on that hurt foot, Someone cares and he knows what that feels like now.

"I'M STILL ALIVE AND KICKING"- "Who ever said that a brick wall wouldn't help cut the cold wind? I'm glad I found a new place to lay my bones-" Old Man Bum must have mumbled when I stopped to stare. He's not dead and he's not in a shelter, but I'm positive he has had some help. A new pair of sneakers, without a hole cut out of the big toe, and a healthy winter coat and hat prove some attention has been given to this man. So, as I drive perpendicular down the street, perpendicular to the alleyway Old Man Bum was in I stopped, smiled, and drove on. Something inside me was so happy to know he is alive and still on the streets-so now he doesn't stick out so much. I'm not looking for him either, but today, on my way to the office stopped at a light directly in front of his bus stop bench I turned to my right and there he was crouched down to google eye a baby. As the baby was held on the mother's lap Old Man Bum was pointing, smiling, and enjoying himself. that was enough to make my day. Drunk or not, Old Man Bum has human feelings for younger folk. I wonder about his life-his past, and all the things that make him up. It's got to be unbelievable.

It's important to me that I keep my brain occupied with something or someone other than myself. For now I make connections between my life in KY and the life Old Man Bum lives, better yet, my feelings about the reality of my life as I know and learn people like Old Man Bum. There are always parallels.

11/8/93- Bumps, bruises, cuts, and blood marks trace this man from the corner of fourth and Scott Streets to the back alley bars and bus stops. Old Man Bum lingers almost as if Christmas won't happen without him. Adorned in new sneakers and leather and wool (white fluff) coat-he looks warm and peaceful inside. His eyes observe all, carry pain, and reveal truth-while hiding chances taken. While sticking out in a place where there really is room for him, I'm angered by his presence because I know there is a better place for him-but why should I pass judgement? Or if it is opinion I'm allowed to have it. Just like the weed-the most beautiful weed growing so heartily and strong among my yellow marigolds. Any day now we should expect new life; new meanings which do nothing more than make my reality more depressed- for what was once desire in another human being is now lifelessly waiting for the next time around. I think I find myself realizing he is helpless in so many ways.

It would tickle me to see Old Man Bum-who remains nameless for more than one reason. If I saw him the mystery would stop and I would stop stereotyping him with every other Tom, Dick, and Harry in the world or at least the ones I have ever known.

I haven't seen Old Man Bum in almost four months now. I think he vanished. While I'm busy hoping he's safe I am able to reflect back on the day I stopped to talk to him. When I approached this droopy drawers (pants way past his backside),thick, white haired, wooly bearded man, to give him a bag of apples, loaf of bread, and a white blanket with pink and red roses that my Dad had given me before I left for Kentucky- the same blanket that had been given to him in a time of need when he hit bottom and was in the midst of alcohol rehabilitation 6 months ago, he said a few things to me.... wows that's a good blanket. Thanks. When he took the apples and the bread from me he made sure he had my eye contact. "Are you broke?" He said to me as he reached in his pocket to give me whatever he thought would help or that I needed. Before he could take his hand out of his pocket, I assured him that I would be O.K. (he didn't know I was living on a VISTA stipend!) Instead of feeling good about having reached out to the old man, who was well over 70 yrs.~ I cried and cried like a baby. The uncontollable tears came out of fear and a deeper undertanding of human beings. It was then, only four months in my new found land of Northern Kentucky, that I realized my place or my reason for being here. I realized that I had been given a chance to meet all kinds of new people and that I had better not waste another minute feeling alone or as if I had made the biggest mistake of my life.