​"Community Connections in a Time of Rust and Lentils"

Coffee for a neighbor, lentils for the soul—generosity rising like steam in a cold November

November 10, under an overcast sky
The shutdown came with silence—no paychecks, no certainty, SNAP benefits slashed like old film reels. But something unexpected bloomed: generosity. People began to notice each other again. Not just the ones in need, but the ones who could give. Even the trees atop Fort Hill seemed to lean closer, rust and yellow whispering in the Monday mist.


Coffee, Crackers, and Kindness
She lives in the garden apartments, quiet and proud. She said she was out of coffee. So I brewed a pot, packed two bowls of lentil stew, added fruit and crackers, and walked it over. She said I made her day. But truthfully, she made mine.


Brotherhood in the Shutdown
Saleh called me brother yesterday. The way he held my hand—no fist bump nonsense. He held it gently in his, and it was truly beautiful. It felt better than sex. He said, “If you ever need food, come to me.” No hesitation. No pity. Just grace. I may take him up on it one day. And when I do, I’ll remember the way he looked—olive skin, black curls, kindness in his eyes.


Scorpio Season
To my fellow Scorpios: Jacqueline in South Carolina, Leonard in California, Cousin Christopher in North Carolina, Greek musician Yanni, King Charles, and Ted in California—who shares my day of birth. We are the ones who feel too much and say too little. We are the ones who remember.
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I’ll be a year older soon. But I count my birth from the day I moved to San Francisco not the first birth in a place called Kingsburg. That makes me 42. And 42 is where we stop counting. Everything after that is myth.