Home
I arrived in Tulsa November 6, closed on the sale of a condo and began to get acquainted with what was to be my new home. It was not yet a home but a shell providing shelter. An air mattress and one small pan with which to cook plus, of course, the computer and a working bathroom were all my I needed to begin the process of registering the car, opening bank accounts and, most importantly, getting a library card. By Monday I was ready to virtually meet with clients. The week passed quickly. Saturday evening, the 14th, the movers arrived with furniture and 90 + boxes. With the help of two of my sisters, one of my nephews and the very efficient condo handy person, by this morning I was ready to bake a pie, arranger fresh flowers and appreciate the smell of fresh coffee while chatting with family and other friends via the magic of the internet. While the visit of COVID-19 has slowed down the process of getting my Oklahoma drivers licenses and exploring some local attractions, I am feeling at home.
Early this morning I received a note via the internet that a young man with/for whom I worked for many years has been arrested and will likely be returned to the only home in which he knows how to function - a prison. This young man has spent a majority of his 44 years in various penal institutions and although he loathes being in prison he also, in some important ways, feels more comfortable there. The penal system has long branded him an angry, dangerous man and in so doing has molded the child into the person they accused him, to be.\
At the core of all humans that I know is the desire and “need” to have a home. I and others in the United States approach what is known as Thanksgiving Day - a day which can be complicated by its history but which for many of all backgrounds is a day to gather with family and share a meal. For many sharing a meal - making a place at the table is both a cultural and spiritual tradition. Christians, for examples, celebrate the symbolic invitation to be a sacred guest of the radical teacher Jesus no matter religion, race, or other social constructs.
In my limited exploration of the city of Tulsa I have already become aware of the homeless. I know that the homeless include the mentally ill, those traumatized by domestic violence or other war experiences and those who have learned in other circumstances that there is no walled space which can be trusted to be a safe home. It also includes the increasing number which do not have a place in an economy favors the 1%.
As we approach the Thanksgiving holiday many of us will respect the dangers of Covid-19 and gather with only I immediate family. Some will be creative and gather for various meals in intimate settings many times over. Some will defy all warnings and risk large family gatherings thinking... Thinking what?
Many have posited that home is where the heart is. Heart, in my mind, is about connection. What makes my home a home is all the reminders of those who have nurtured my heart and my soul. I have many such associations with the pie I just baked, with the artwork, books and each piece of furniture. The energy of all those who have made my home a home is contained in each of these and in the core of who I am. I am never alone. While I am grateful to have these physical reminders and space in which to enjoy them, the hundreds, if not thousands of spirits which fill every corner of his small condo, invite me home. If I accomplish anything worthwhile in the days to come it will be because I am held in this circle of love which I call home.
Written November 19, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
Coachpickett.org
I arrived in Tulsa November 6, closed on the sale of a condo and began to get acquainted with what was to be my new home. It was not yet a home but a shell providing shelter. An air mattress and one small pan with which to cook plus, of course, the computer and a working bathroom were all my I needed to begin the process of registering the car, opening bank accounts and, most importantly, getting a library card. By Monday I was ready to virtually meet with clients. The week passed quickly. Saturday evening, the 14th, the movers arrived with furniture and 90 + boxes. With the help of two of my sisters, one of my nephews and the very efficient condo handy person, by this morning I was ready to bake a pie, arranger fresh flowers and appreciate the smell of fresh coffee while chatting with family and other friends via the magic of the internet. While the visit of COVID-19 has slowed down the process of getting my Oklahoma drivers licenses and exploring some local attractions, I am feeling at home.
Early this morning I received a note via the internet that a young man with/for whom I worked for many years has been arrested and will likely be returned to the only home in which he knows how to function - a prison. This young man has spent a majority of his 44 years in various penal institutions and although he loathes being in prison he also, in some important ways, feels more comfortable there. The penal system has long branded him an angry, dangerous man and in so doing has molded the child into the person they accused him, to be.\
At the core of all humans that I know is the desire and “need” to have a home. I and others in the United States approach what is known as Thanksgiving Day - a day which can be complicated by its history but which for many of all backgrounds is a day to gather with family and share a meal. For many sharing a meal - making a place at the table is both a cultural and spiritual tradition. Christians, for examples, celebrate the symbolic invitation to be a sacred guest of the radical teacher Jesus no matter religion, race, or other social constructs.
In my limited exploration of the city of Tulsa I have already become aware of the homeless. I know that the homeless include the mentally ill, those traumatized by domestic violence or other war experiences and those who have learned in other circumstances that there is no walled space which can be trusted to be a safe home. It also includes the increasing number which do not have a place in an economy favors the 1%.
As we approach the Thanksgiving holiday many of us will respect the dangers of Covid-19 and gather with only I immediate family. Some will be creative and gather for various meals in intimate settings many times over. Some will defy all warnings and risk large family gatherings thinking... Thinking what?
Many have posited that home is where the heart is. Heart, in my mind, is about connection. What makes my home a home is all the reminders of those who have nurtured my heart and my soul. I have many such associations with the pie I just baked, with the artwork, books and each piece of furniture. The energy of all those who have made my home a home is contained in each of these and in the core of who I am. I am never alone. While I am grateful to have these physical reminders and space in which to enjoy them, the hundreds, if not thousands of spirits which fill every corner of his small condo, invite me home. If I accomplish anything worthwhile in the days to come it will be because I am held in this circle of love which I call home.
Written November 19, 2020
Jimmy F Pickett
Coachpickett.org
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