Tis the season for reporters to
relax.
The November ratings book has come and gone. In that time, so did the newest addition to the Collier bureau. The search continues for a replacement.
The sun goes away sooner and I've actually gotten to wear sweaters a few times. The AC is officially off. Boating is straight-up cold. Still... the water's not frozen... so we grin and bear it.
This is winter in Southwest Florida. This is the first time in my life I've been able to wear flip flops in December. Though there's no snow on the ground, it definitely feels like winter. Not in the atmospheric sense... but the
feeling you get when you know it's almost Christmas.
I spent my Thanksgiving working. We covered the normal homeless turkey feed story that every station in America likely does each year. This year, though, I met a very inspiring woman named Hillary.
For the first time in her life, Hillary and her two girls were spending their holiday in a shelter. She'd held an administrative position at a community college for nine years before being laid off last fall. Soon her savings had diminished and she found herself with only $100 to her name-- she came to St. Matthews House, a Naples shelter, for help. She is the unfortunate example of a sign of the times.
By 6:00 that night, I had put in a full day's work and still gotten a chance to eat a Thanksgiving meal with C, my photographer. Still, I couldn't help feeling homesick. It was one of the first times I've felt that way since moving to Florida.
I didn't like it. I spent the whole weekend in my apartment-- shut off from the rest of the world-- wearing sweats and eating pumpkin pie. I drank wine and I cried. I let myself be a total baby from Friday to Sunday... and then again on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of last week. I overanalyzed my decision to come to Florida, ate almost every meal in bed, and hit the snooze for literally 40 minutes almost every day. I was a total bitch at work and found myself needing to count to ten a
LOT.
You could say I went off the deep end. Don't worry-- I've since snapped out of my tantrum; and today I tackled the pile of laundry that accumulated while pouting for a week and a half.
That's when the strangest thing happened. I had just taken clothes out of the washing machine and sorted out what was to dry and what needed to be hung up, when into the laundry room walked a familiar face:
Hillary. We instantly recognized each other. This woman had cried to me while I blinked back tears on Thanksgiving day, and now a miracle has happened for her. A private condo owner in my complex apparently has a deal with St. Matthew's House-- if a person at the shelter qualifies, they can live in one of these condos while they get back on their feet. She, Hope, and Faith moved in on Friday. Finally, the stability of a place to call
home after being considered
homeless just a week earlier.
This really stuck with me. The whole time I've been in Florida, it has felt very temporary. It is time I start treating it like home.
A home is not something to take for granted. I went to my spare closet, and pulled out my Christmas tree. It's something Scott and I did together, but today, I put it up myself. It was frustrating and a little emotional, but it looks beautiful.
I couldn't help but think of Hillary... my story subject... my new neighbor.
She and I will both spend our first Christmas in a new home... and we're both going to be alright.
