“Look Mom, this isn’t poop, it’s dried something else” Jack says.
“Drop that Jack, that is definitely poop, eww, lets go wash your hands, that’s so grost, we’ll just wash your hands really good with soap and water, poop is dangerous, you can’t touch poop.” I say.
We smelt and saw the poop last Friday morning when I dropped Jack off at school. It was definitely poop.
On my walk in Boyd Park, after I left Jacks school, I saw a man in a sleeping bag talking to a woman sitting next to him. They had early morning red eyes, it was sleeping time for them. I almost asked them if they knew anyone who would leave a giant sleeping bag, a large tarp, a box which contained- (a ton of giant clips, a playboy magazine, and a bunch of bungie clips), an ax, cutters, and two animal skulls on a piece of land (Urban Wildlife Interface) near some houses. I imagined myself explaining where the stuff was and what it looked like. I walked by and only said good morning. On the outside of the plastic bin that was left near my house on the U.W.I., there was a name and number. I called the number; a man answered the phone. I texted him a picture of the box and the contents of the box. He said that someone re-purposed the container, and that they probably found it in a dumpster a couple months ago when the man whose number was on the container threw it away.
Our neighborhood just cleaned up all the open space around us that was thick with scotch broom and dead trees for years. It’s beautiful now, there’s places you could set up camp. This was my first experience with something like this, it is difficult. At first, I felt empathetic towards the camper/drifter/man. Then I felt creeped out thinking about someone living in the woods behind my house. A person who I don’t know, who’s hiding down a path, behind trees and bushes. I thought of this person accidentally starting a fire, I thought of the safety of my kids and my neighbors. I took necessary action immediately. I had an officer come and help me move the person’s things out of the woods. The officer left a note, telling the person his stuff was at the road and that camping was not allowed at this location.
It’s been a week and the person never came back for his stuff. It’s sitting on our road, wet, and disgusting. Tomorrow it will be taken to the dump. I wonder what happened to the man who owns the stuff? Did he see me with the cop and get scared? Or did he decide to leave his stuff and live somewhere else?
It’s also been over a week since Christine Blasey Ford testified. As the week went by, all of us watched, all of us who felt Dr. Fords pain last week, felt it as our pain, were reminded of our own sexual assaults, reminded that we’ve been raised in a patriarchal society. We saw this week we live in a world where men protect men. It started to become clear that getting their guy confirmed to the supreme court was so much more important than anything else. The campaign to protect our boys, our sons, our husbands has begun. “The poor men” the republicans cried all week.
I don’t feel sorry for men.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 