By Jo Mooy
How a $20 gift to an old, homeless “mother” made for the best day ever.
It was the week before Valentine’s Day. The crush of people, and their cars that usually fill the parking lot outside the grocery store, were not yet up. It was too early in the morning for them. For me, it was the best time to shop. I buy a large cup of coffee, perch it on the basket, and stroll through the entire store buying produce, bakery and deli items and exit before it fills up with “snowbirds.”
I was already dreaming of being back home and sitting on the lanai with the coffee and reading a book when I got out of the car and heard a scratchy voice singing an unknown song. I thought to myself, that song makes no sense. Even the words seemed made up. Then I remembered that my mother did a similar thing. When she did the dishes or worked on some project, she sang or hummed similar songs known only to her.
Looking around, I searched for the sound. It was coming from a picnic bench on the sidewalk down a ways from the entrance to the store. Sitting on the picnic bench was a disheveled form, with matted hair, (once curly) sticking out from a ski cap, hunched over a torn paper bag. It was an old woman eating a meager breakfast out of the bag. Her foot was hooked around a shopping cart that was filled with her life possessions. Black plastic bags vied for space with a broom, a dirty pillow, and a boom box from the 1980s. It was attached to a white extension cord that was plugged into the store’s outside electrical outlet. She was singing along to whatever song was playing on the boom box.
She never looked up as I walked past her towards the store entrance, but everything about her and the scene she portrayed was etched in my mind because she was the second older homeless woman I’d seen that morning. The other one was lying on the ground in front of the UPS store. The singing woman stayed on my mind all through the shopping trip. I had the means to buy everything I needed for the week. After the weekly shop, I was going to a safe home with a full refrigerator, a lanai overlooking a lake and a flower-strewn garden. How did I warrant that while she had nothing? Was it karma? The vagaries of life? Choices made? The lack of choices?
At the line to the cash register were all sorts of Valentine’s Day goodies to purchase. Heart-shaped boxes of chocolate and bouquets of flowers filled the aisles. Glossy over-sized and too expensive sappy cards competed for the attention of shoppers. By the time I got to the register, the store was filling. Bagging up my purchases, talking to the cashier, and paying with a credit card, I’d momentarily forgotten about the homeless woman outside. I was also in a hurry to leave the store and get home before the traffic jams began.
As I wheeled my cart down the sidewalk, she was still sitting there by herself at the picnic table bench. Other shoppers walked past her. Many left the “safety” of the sidewalk and veered into the roadway so they wouldn’t have to get too near her. She never looked up at any of them but all of them looked away from her. I hoped she didn’t notice that. Or perhaps given the condition she was in, she no longer cared. Her entire focus was on the pastry she was eating out of the paper bag and the song on the boom box.
What’s going on in our collective consciousness that we all turn away from those who are down and out? The questions on karma and life choices floated into my mind again as I headed in her direction. She carried everything she owned in a Publix shopping cart. She had a broom that looked well used. She had a pillow wherever she rested her head. She was having breakfast al fresco in one of the most desirable U.S. cities to live in: Sarasota, FL. In a way, she may have been better off than many of us.
Something made me stop as I went down the sidewalk, and I turned my back to her. I never carry cash but that same “something” made me open my wallet and look inside. There, between my driver’s license and Medicare card was a $20 bill. It wasn’t much, but I knew I had to give it to her. Before my mom died I would have easily spent that and more on the flowers, or the box of chocolates or the ridiculously expensive Hallmark cards for her. Taking out the $20, I tucked it into my palm, and pushed my cart towards hers.
As our carts came together I stopped. This time she looked up at me. I put the $20 into her rough gnarled hands and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mother!” With crumbs falling from her mouth, her glazed eyes looked into mine like I was an apparition. Then she realized she had something in her hand. She looked down at the $20 bill and she began repeating, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God” while looking up at me and down at the $20. I nodded and repeated, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mother.”
Saying “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mother” to a homeless woman wasn’t thought out. The words spontaneously came out of my mouth. Driving home I wondered if “The Homeless Madonna” might have been a gift sent from my mother. I decided it was because helping the homeless was something she often did at her church. The Homeless Madonna gifted me that morning with the best day ever!
Jo Mooy has studied with many spiritual traditions over the past 40 years. The wide diversity of this training allows her to develop spiritual seminars and retreats that explore inspirational concepts, give purpose and guidance to students, and present esoteric teachings in an understandable manner. Along with Patricia Cockerill, she has guided the Women’s Meditation Circle since January 2006 where it has been honored for five years in a row as the “Favorite Meditation” group in Sarasota, FL, by Natural Awakenings Magazine. Teaching and using Sound as a retreat healing practice, Jo was certified as a Sound Healer through Jonathan Goldman’s Sound Healing Association. She writes and publishes a monthly internationally distributed e-newsletter called Spiritual Connections and is a staff writer for Spirit of Maat magazine in Sedona. For more information go to http://www.starsoundings.com or email jomooy@gmail.com.