New Year's Resolutions

I'm not really big on making New Year's resolutions. I figure if you're going to change something about yourself, you should just go ahead and do it rather than waiting on some arbitrary date. Instead, I tend to make new resolutions multiple times throughout the year and as I tend to break them anyway (oh, like you don't!), this means the failure is spread out across the calendar, rather than in a rush mid-January. And as January tends to be a depressing enough month in the first place, every little bit helps.

Having said that…I decided that this year I would at least set out certain goals for myself as we head into 2008. Not only that; I'm declaring them here. I figure this will result in one of two things.

Either the fear of public humiliation will encourage me to achieve all of them all or you'll be able to have a good laugh at my failure. It's all good.

Whichever it turns out to be, you'll be forced to keep reading The Gunsmoke Files throughout the year if you want to find out how I did.

So without further ado (drum roll please) my New Year's Resolutions for 2008.

1. I will update The Gunsmoke Files frequently.
Yeah, I know you've heard this before but this time I mean it. I mean it, you hear? I still have a few stories I'd like to tell before I get too senile to remember them.

2. I will go to the gym regularly.
I'm sure this is on everybody's list but my problem isn't going to the gym, it's going back a 2nd or a 3rd time. If I'm going to be mistaken for Brad Pitt by the time summer comes around, I'll need to go more than 2 or 3 times a month.

3. I will take more photographs.
Thanks to Santa and with a little help from e-Bay, I now have a very nice Nikon N90s film camera. (Yeah, I said film - wanna make something of it?) The trick is to carry it with me and get into the habit of using it.

4. I will work on my drumming.
As in, several times a week. Not just the night before band practice.

5. I will climb a 14'er.
Colorado has 54 (or is it 55?) mountains above 14,000 feet but despite living here for almost 6 years now, I've yet to hike above 12,000 feet. I almost got started on my first 14'er this summer but was turned back by the road being washed out. I'll do at least one this year.

6. I will memorize some knots.
Back in my Boy Scout days, the troop leaders despaired over my inability to remember how to tie knots from one session to the next. Even as an adult with super-human intelligence the only knot I can ever remember how to tie is a reef knot and useful though that is, it doesn't cover every eventuality. And if I'm ever shanghaied and forced to serve on a Royal Navy sailing ship, I'll need to know how to tie knots.

7. I will push on along the Colorado Trail.
Despite the first segment being one of the less pleasant hiking experiences of my life, there's a long way to go before I'm done. I just need to pack a little more strategically and cover shorter distances each day.

8. I will continue my policy of never watching a movie starring anybody who used to be on Saturday Night Live.
Hey c'mon, I need one achievable goal.

OK, that's enough to be going on with. Not a huge list considering how many different ways I need to improve myself, but it's a start.

I'll let you know how I get on.

An American Thanksgiving

Sadly, the real world is still getting in the way of my blogging, so like all good hacks, I'm resorting to recycling old stuff. This is a Gunsmoke File from November 2004. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

As any American history nerd can tell you, the Pilgrim Fathers landed on what is now known as Massachusetts in 1620. There’s no evidence they actually landed at Plymouth Rock, or carved the date which appears on it today; that was more likely the handiwork of some enterprising member of a later Chamber of Commerce. What is evident however is that the onset of winter is a particularly bad time when it comes to founding a new colony.

Well meaning and enterprising they may have been, but as pioneers they were hopelessly ill-equipped. Lacking even a basic knowledge of agriculture and having neglected to bring a single cow, the effects of the harsh winter were soon to take their toll. By spring, over half the original band of 102 souls were dead. Indeed, as popular lore has it, the remainder would not have survived had they not been befriended by some English speaking natives who taught the pilgrims a few survival tips and earned themselves not only a place in the history books, but a slap up turkey dinner to celebrate the first harvest.

And not only turkey. Venison, pumpkin and corn were believed to be on the menu for the feast which ran for three days. Although it soon became an American tradition, Thanksgiving was not celebrated as an official holiday until 1864 during the Lincoln presidency and it was Franklin D. Roosevelt who moved it to the now customary date of the fourth Thursday of November. I’m not sure which president arranged for the football games to be on television around the clock, so I’ll need to get back to you on that.

While I don’t think I’d be up to three days worth of feasting, Thanksgiving is without a doubt, my favorite holiday. No commercialization, no religious bickering, no decorations to put up (or take down), just lots of food, drink and the company of good friends. And the chance to take a moment and reflect that no matter how tiresome the humdrum aspects of life may be, we’re still one heckuva lot better off than many other people on this pretty blue globe and we’d all do well to remember that.

This year, Dear Wife and I were invited over to the home of our friends, Kris and Mario. The last time we’d been in their house it was in a state which could charitably (but inadequately) be described as “messy”. We’re not the world’s greatest housekeepers but our house is like Martha Stewart’s compared to theirs. So we were wondering how in the world they would have it clear enough to accommodate the anticipated twenty bodies. As it turns out, Kris and another friend had spent four days with a pickax, a shovel and a flame-thrower and between them, had removed the clutter and restored the house to the attractive, light-filled and eclectic home we knew it to be.

Two long tables were placed end to end, although at a slight angle in order to provide more side edges (the better at which to sit people) and chairs had been borrowed from all quarters. There was no room for mingling; you arrived, you sat down, that was it. Nobody was particularly sorry that three people failed to show as even with the reduced numbers, elbow room was at a premium. But fit we did and it was a happy bunch that sat to give thanks this year.

Everybody had been instructed to bring a dish with them. Dear Wife took along her specialty pumpkin pie. She opens a can of pumpkin like nobody, that woman. I had been commanded to provide the mashed potatoes, something well within my culinary repertoire. I cooked them, mashed them and creamed them to perfection. They were faultless. The only problem was they ran out before the bowl had made it half way round the table. Note to self: Seventeen people eat a lot of potatoes.

Even the finest meal is no pleasure if the company is poor but this diverse group of people made the evening an event in itself. The professional chef carved the turkey. The artist and the chiropractor bartered paintings for a session of spinal adjustment. The published author and the aspiring writer exchanged tips. The child and the school teacher swapped stories. And the British guy sat back and marveled at the wonderful concept which is the American Thanksgiving dinner.

When nobody could manage another bite of dessert, the plates were cleared away and the jewelry designer brought out his wares. Long anticipated as the highlight of the gathering, the womenfolk went into paroxysms of joy as each bracelet, necklace and gemstone was held up, tried on and snapped up. Like most of the other men, I was torn between the despair of seeing my hard earned beer money disappear so quickly and the relief of realizing I wouldn’t have to suffer through the hell that is Christmas shopping.

More beer, more wine, more coffee, more pie anyone? With the exception of potatoes; there was still enough food to sink a battleship and I suspect Kris and Mario are even now working their way through the leftovers. Sadly, my work hours and long commute have turned me into an early riser, even though my soul rebels against such a thing. One of the many downsides to this is that even when I have no work the following morning, my aging body starts to shut down around my regular bed time. So, the night was still comparatively young when my eyes started to droop and my head to nod.

We made our goodbyes and gathered up our belongings before heading out into the night. The moon was almost full and its light sparkled on the snow like a billion brilliant-cut diamonds. Tired or not, it was impossible not to enjoy driving in that wonderland. We pulled into the driveway of our little cabin among the trees and stepped out of the car to admire the canopy of stars under an indigo sky. Before entering the house, I took a moment to consider how truly blessed we are on this Thanksgiving Day.

Mind you, I had cause to reflect on that a few minutes later when I was on my hands and knees cleaning up an ocean of dog vomit and diarrhea. No idea what Wiley ate this time, but it obviously didn’t sit as well as my Thanksgiving dinner. It doesn’t do to let too much positive thinking get in the way of real life, but hey, even with a sick dog in the house, things are pretty darn good.

Gimme Shelter

"As a society, we like to dehumanize the problem," Len the coordinator told us, "it saves us have to think about it, or feel guilty about it. After all, if we tell ourselves it's their own fault, then we don't need to do anything about it. 'Homeless People'. The very expression suggests that they're 'homeless first' and 'people' second. That's why here at the shelter we use the term 'People who are homeless'."

We were wrapping plastic spoons and forks in paper napkins ready for the people who would soon stream through the door. The tables had already been washed down and by now were set with water jugs, condiments and bread, all items donated by local sponsors. By 11:55, Trevor, Peggy and Clarice were manning the serving hatch; Sean was ready to hand the trays to the guests as they stepped up, while Kim and Tom stood behind a table containing the salad and desserts. Jeff was manning the door with a hand-clicker to control the pace. My job was to hand out mugs of water as the guests filed past.

Did you know that of the approximately 9,000 homeless living in Metro Denver, nearly 60% are families including around 3,600 children? I didn't.

At 12 a bell rang, the door was unlocked and the guests arrived. Many were dirty, dressed in rags and often carrying their possessions under one arm. Others were obviously making an attempt to maintain their appearance, with combed hair and clean complexions. A surprising number were smartly dressed and one even carried a briefcase.

"Oh yes," explained Len when I commented on this later, "Around 25 percent of the people who are homeless have regular, full-time jobs. It just isn't possible to afford a place to live on the wages they earn. Many of our residents work at the baseball stadium; others are car-park attendants. The person serving your food at McDonalds or Burger King is quite likely to be homeless. They work hard but simply don't earn enough to get off the streets."

I thought back to the times when I've heard people claim that the homeless are simply lazy, or stupid. "I've no sympathy for them; there are plenty of jobs for those willing to work!" We've all heard that, right? Remember, 25 percent have full-time jobs.

Some were extrovert and animated. "Thank you sir, thank you sir" we heard over and over. Others, stony eyed and beaten, barely raised their heads as I handed them the water. One elderly gent took the mug and with trembling hands, drained it to the bottom. He held it out to me and in a soft voice asked "May I have another cup please?" How degrading must that be for an old man, to have to ask for a cup of water?

Tens of thousands of poor and needy people come through Denver Rescue Mission each year for shelter, food, clothing, medical care and chapel services. 365 days a year, the facility provides a breakfast, lunch, and a dinner meal. Up to 200 men (110 shelter beds and 90 overflow cots) find a warm bed and a safe place to sleep each night, although women and children have to go to a different facility. Private donations allows the mission to provide clothing to the needy, everything from warm gloves, to underwear, to business attire for job interviews.

"The weather's going to cool down in the next couple of weeks," said Len, "then we'll get real busy." Last winter, two major snowstorms within the space of a few days effectively shut down the city of Denver. "We had 300 men sleeping here back then; on the floors, in the offices, in the corridors. On the third day, we ran out food."

The mission provides trained counselors to help up to 2,000 individuals each month with needs such as food boxes, baby diapers, furniture, clothing, household goods, and referrals to other agencies. The Mission's health clinic provides free medical, dental, optical, hearing, and chiropractic services to the poor. Volunteer medical professionals play an integral part in this clinic program.

And still they came through the door. Young people who looked like they should be in school, old people who looked like they should be sitting on a front porch watching the world go by, and saddest of all, wild-eyed and frantic people, damaged people who looked like they should be in a hospital. The Mission feeds them all.

It was a quiet day all told, with only around 130 guests. Usually it's between 200-300, although this varies with the weather. "Sometimes we have to push them out the door to let others come in." said Len. Today though, by 1 pm the kitchen was serving seconds to the clever ones who knew how the system worked.

Most of the workers at the Mission are homeless themselves; many in rehab for drug or alcohol abuse. Len knew all their names, and prefaced each one with "Mr." "We never forget that some of our guests are not good people" he told us "and many are not well balanced. Some have been in prison and others will end up there. As a result, we have to take security precautions such as having cameras everywhere, including the bathrooms. These folks have little enough dignity in their lives and we're aware that this takes away even more. So we try to treat them with respect whenever we can. It's the least we can do."

I thought back to an old man, looking at me with rheumy eyes and asking if he might have a second cup of water. Then I drove home to my safe, warm house, with its well stocked refrigerator and cupboards full of food. And my clean, comfy bed. And the pile of bills on the desk didn't seem large at all. And I gave thanks for the people at Denver Rescue Mission, doing what they can to help those who have nothing.

I have it so good. And so do you. Please don't ever forget that.

Thanks to Miss Cellania; this Gunsmoke File was awared a Perfect Post award.

Thanks Charlie

Fifteen hours on a plane, followed by another three trying to find a hotel plus a 7 hour time zone change, meant that sleep didn’t come easily and while Bangkok’s nightlife is famous for many reasons all I needed was some carbonated alcohol. I found it in a beach-hut type bar not too far from the hotel.

I also found a new best friend called Charlie, although it’s fair to say he found me. The pasty complexion and bright white Reeboks marked me as a newbie, and he was walking by my side before I was ten yards from the door. It took a few minutes to convince him that I was on a budget and while I might be brand new to the country, I was tired and cranky and in no mood to be hustled.

Eventually he gave up trying to introduce me to a ‘nice young lady’ and joined me at the bar where, instead of trying to separate me from my cash, shared cautionary tales of previous visitors who’d arrived with romance in mind but left broken-hearted and empty-walleted.

Like, for example, the young Australian who’d recently downed a couple of cold ones in the company of a charming young sort at a nearby hostelry. When the time came to settle his bill, he was alarmed to be charged for not two, but ten beers. Naturally, he questioned this with the management who in turn, brought in two bouncers to mediate. Before long our hero found himself bleeding and crying on the floor of the bar. At his request, the police were summoned, and they drove him to the emergency room, helpfully stopping by the ATM so he could withdraw enough cash to pay the doctor. They even stayed with him while he received treatment; then kindly drove him back to the bar to settle his still outstanding bill. Which had now risen to thirty beers.

Over the course of the next couple of hours I learned that Charlie had one wife and two girlfriends, one of whom was pregnant. When I asked him what he did for a living he told me he got by, doing ‘this and that’. “This and that?” I asked him. “What’s it like having two jobs?” But as is often the case with my humor, it went over his head.

We also chatted about beer, the drug problem and my first love, football. He claimed to be a big fan of English soccer, but couldn’t name any of the teams. He had however, heard of Bobby Charlton* so that suggested at least a passing interest in the beautiful game.

Compared to some of the street hustlers into which I’ve run, Charlie was a pleasant enough guy. When it came time to settle my bill, he insisted on paying half, even though I’d drunk more than him and had planned to pick up the whole tab. He even walked me back to the hotel “to make sure I’m safe”. However, when I surfaced, sticky and grumpy the next morning, I was in no particular mood to see him again.

So it wasn’t surprising that I was barely off the hotel grounds when he appeared from nowhere, wearing the same stained chinos and ripped T-shirt of the night before, all smiles and ready to help me in my quest for cheaper lodgings. At this point I still had no clue whereabouts in Bangkok last night’s cab driver had dropped me. My guidebook turned out to be hopelessly out of date (and in English) so nobody yet had been able to show me where I was.

My plan was to head towards the river and look for lodgings in some backpacker flea-pit. At that stage in my travels, Koh-San Road, the legendary Asian hub of the backpacker world, was at unknown to me. But even then I knew there would be something like that out there if I could only find it.

Instead, before I knew what was happening, Charlie had picked up my pack and was off down the street. For a moment, I thought he was robbing me but no, he was simply doing me the favor of carrying it while he took me to a ‘cheap hotel’.

Compared to the place the cab-driver had dropped me the night before, it was indeed cheap. $6 Compared to $20, but I was budgeting for about $1 - $2, and this was still too rich for my blood. However, the idea of walking around in the Bangkok heat looking for a new place, didn’t appeal so I resigned myself to another night out here, wherever 'here' was was.

How I spent my first day in that most exotic and fascinating of cities is a tale for another Gunsmoke File. I made some rookie mistakes, was overcharged several times, and ate food from a vendor that now owes me a new colon, but all in all, didn’t slip up in any serious fashion.

However, I did almost make one error that would have put a serious crimp in my round-the-world-ambitions.

Remember I said at the beginning that I had no idea where in Bangkok my hotel was situated? I didn’t know what it was called either. Which would have made it very challenging to find my way back. And considering my backpack, my passport and my wallet were locked in my room; that would have been a shade inconvenient. So it was fortunate that Charlie had had the bright idea of picking up a hotel brochure, and stuffing it in my pocket before placing me on the bus that morning.

It took a friendly native to find me the right bus back again, and another to tell me when to get off. But if it hadn’t have been for that brochure, I’d probably still be wandering around Bangkok, looking for that damn hotel today.

Thanks Charlie.

* Bobby Charlton was a demi-god of English football during the 60’s and 70’s…considerably before Charlie was born.