We were evicted from a shelter

for homeless families

on the evening of December 23rd, 2004

 

 

Part  One:

Can a shelter for homeless families

throw a family out on the streets of Toronto -

during a cold Canadian winter?

 

 

  AT 11 a.m. on the afternoon of Thursday, December 16th, and exactly nine days before Christmas day, the management of the Family Residence, a shelter for homeless families in the city of Scarborough is throwing my family of three adults on the streets of Toronto, from inside the Gateway Motel where we have been staying for almost two years now through their shelter system.  We have stayed in four different rooms at this motel since we enter this family shelter during the first week of February of 2003; and room #322 is the room we are now staying in; and the room that Family Residence has informed us that we have to leave less than 72 hours from now.

 

 

My family is not able or ready to survive on the streets of Toronto during the Canadian winter; nor do want to live there - not only because we will end up dying of hypothermia on those cold streets – but both my husband and I have serious health problems which could end up causing us to die on those cold streets from serious illness instead of freezing to death.

 

 

Yet if our 23 year old daughter and my husband and myself are thrown out of this motel room on Thursday afternoon, as Leslie Jourdene, the manager of Scarborough Family Residence, has informed us that we will be: we will stay out of the frozen streets of Toronto until we either freeze to death, or die from serious medical ailments.  For we are a family that has been disrespected, degraded, taunted, tormented, tortured, ridiculed, intimidated, assaulted, and persecuted and injured by people from different communities that we have lived in – for most of our lives as a family – that we are mentally and emotionally unable to live and function in the community, with the same kinds of people, and under the same kinds of traumatic conditions which caused us to be as deeply wounded as we have become.

 

 

We are a family of walking wounded who have been injured so severely, and so frequently by others in our community over the years, that we would rather live – and die – on the frozen streets of Toronto, than be forced back into the community to live in the same house or in the same apartment building with other human beings.

 

 

A shelter is supposed to be a place of refuge for families who are homeless, for one reason or another, until that person or family is able and ready to return to live in the community.  It is also supposed to be a place of refuge for people to come in out of the cold who do not have a place of their own to stay in – especially during the cold Canadian winter.  Yet the irony of the tragedy of what Family Residence is about to do to my family is that they are throwing my emotionally traumatized and mentally injured family, with two members who have serious medical conditions, out of the family shelter and onto the streets of Toronto – where they are fully aware that not only can we not survive living there during the brutal Canadian winter: but that neither my husband nor myself are physically healthy enough to even be forced to try to.

 

 

My family is being literally held as political hostages by the authorities in Canadian society, where we have lived for almost thirty years as a couple, and where our two children were born and raised; and only because my husband and I have been a couple who has devoted the last fourteen years of our lives challenging and holding the governments of Toronto and Ontario and Canada responsible and accountable for promoting and protecting a way of living and a way of thinking – by just about everyone living in Canadian society - that have encouraged neighbors and fellow tenants and strangers and teachers and social workers and doctors and lawyers and co-workers to attack and injure my family in every area of our lives  inside and outside communities in which we have lived and work and play.

 

 

Most of my autobiography is about my tortured and injured and inspirational and moving life, and the work that I came to this planet to do – “to bring all beings together”, by showing and teaching them the truth about their true identity and purpose and inalienable connections and future as immortal and spiritual beings: who were each brought into existence by ‘The Mother And Father Of All Beings, who bring all existence into being and all beings into existence’.

 

 

Throughout the journey I take each reader on of my traumatized yet mystical and enlightening life, I take the time to share a fountain of ancient knowledge with them about all issues that humanity has been struggling to understand and define for ages; while I show them the wealth of spiritual treasures that they are each carrying inside the core of their being; and the right and ability and responsibility that they each have to find and harvest and develop this inalienable mountain of unseen wealth to reclaim their identity; and regain control of every aspect of their mortal lives – so that they can each learn the process and means to break the shackles that people and institutions and governments use to control their thinking and their way of living. My unpublished book is called: The Autobiography of a God: “The True Story of an Ancient Avatar who comes to Earth to “Bring all Beings Together”

 

 

The management of this shelter has no legal or moral reason to stop paying for us to stay inside this motel, and to cut off our food money, starting this Thursday, so that we will be thrown out of this motel by the owner of this motel on that same day, into the cold winter and onto the streets of Toronto.  The winter is the worse time of the year for the management of any shelter to force a family out of this government funded shelter – and a family that they know has been the victims of deep traumas from the physical assaults and verbal abuses we have endured throughout most of our lives.

 

 

They could easily have waited until winter has passed to throw us out on the streets of Toronto in the spring of next year, especially since they are aware that I have recently re-edited my manuscript to shrink it to the size similar to that of the 900+ pages of the autobiography of President Bill Clinton, so that it can be marketed more easily.  It is also criminal for them to give us three days notice to leave this shelter.  And they know that once they stop paying this motel for us to continue to stay here that we would rather jump off a subway platform into a oncoming train, drink arsenic, or slit our wrists – before we ever even consider having to deal with social workers in those degrading and disrespectful welfare office.

 

 

They are also fully aware that social services would be the ones paying for us to live in the unsuitable accommodations, they have tried to force us into since we arrived in this shelter, just as they have been paying to keep us sheltered, and just barely fed for the past two years.  We have been receiving exactly $175 each week as a family of three adults since we entered this shelter, which we have used to try to cover all of our basic needs; and also to pay $220 each month to keep our worldly possessions in a public storage space, for which we have paid over $4,000 so far.  They also are fully aware that not only will we lose all the possessions we have with us inside the motel room, by forcing us to leave the shelter in three days, but that we will also end up losing everything that we own, that we have locked away in storage.

 

 

So not only are they forcing us to walk away from everything that we have stored in this motel room: They are also forcing us to walk away from all the memories we have kept of our lives in that public storage, for within a few weeks we will no longer be able to pay to keep our things in that storage.  My family is not tied to worldly possessions, but there are certain personal items that I have made with my own hands over the years – such as my collection of beautifully dressed exotic dolls, and the collection of beautiful clothes I have made and designed for myself over the years, to showcase my talents as a fashion designer, a high fashion model, a singer song writer, and a God who loves to create beauty in all forms.  And I would like to keep those personal items in my life, for they contain years of labor of love and creativity.

 

 

The question that my husband and our daughter and myself is now asking about the decision of the management of this family shelter to throw us out onto the streets of Toronto in the middle of the cold Canadian winter is this: does a family shelter in the city of Toronto have the legal or moral right to throw a homeless family out on the streets of Toronto – especially during the middle of the cold Canadian winter - if that family has not broken any law or done any harm to anyone staying or working in or outside that hostel?

 

 

If that shelter is allowed by Canadian law to do such an inhumane thing, how would such a homeless family keep themselves alive on the streets of Toronto during the harsh and cold Canadian winter?  And what if one or more of those members of that homeless family has serious medical problems, such as the husband, who has high blood pressure, and asthma that could cause him to end up dying from a heart attack or an asthma attack on the cold streets of Toronto?  Is that hostel’s management then held accountable for intentionally causing the death of that family member with serious medical problems, whom they decided to throw out of their family shelter onto the streets of Toronto during the middle of the cold Canadian winter?

 

 

What if another member of that homeless family also has even more serious medical problems – such as health complications with her red blood cells, (hemoglobin), anemia, blood transfusions, and soft tissue problems (Fibromalgia) and silicone implants that have weakened her immune system and cause her to easily catch colds all throughout her ailing body?

 

 

What happens if she ends up dying on the street of Toronto instead of her asthmatic husband with the high blood pressure?  Who will be held responsible for her death?  The manager of the Scarborough Family Residence, Leslie Jardin, who tossed this family out into the cold Canadian streets to die during the middle of the winter?  The General Manager of Hostel Services in the city of Toronto, Mr Phil Brown?  Or will the government of the city of Toronto, which provides funding and oversight for Toronto hostel services, be held responsible for the death of either Andraggon or Galextra Kavanaugh on the streets of Toronto during the middle of the Canadian winter?

 

 

I am not just asking these serious questions just for the sake of asking serious questions.  There are thousands of homeless families now sheltering inside Toronto Hostels, and hundreds of homeless men and women and teenagers living on the streets of Toronto who refuse, or who are unable to take refuge in a shelter.  These are human beings who are traumatized, and wounded mentally and emotionally, and even physically  from different injuries inflicted on their bodies and hearts and minds and souls from others they have encountered in their journey in life – who have attacked and injured and abused them severely and even repeatedly - including family members, co-workers, friends, neighbors, strangers, school teachers, social workers, doctors, lawyers, dentists, and even members of the clergy.

 

 

Then there are those who have become so deeply damaged emotionally and mentally from being severely and repeatedly attacked and wounded by other human beings, that they are now the “walking wounded” – who will never come out of the cold and enter a shelter even when the temperature gets so far below zero that the city of Toronto has to issue a warning for homeless street people to come in out of the cold, or risk freezing to death.

 

 

These walking wounded would rather live, and die, on the frozen streets of Toronto from hypothermia, or from a drug or alcohol overdose or even violence, than seek safety inside any shelter.  A number of them are found dead each winter lying on top of heat vents, curled up inside a bus shelters, wrapped inside a sleeping blanket against the side of a building, or in the entrance to some commercial or residential building. And every year when any of these walking wounded are found dead on Toronto’s frozen streets the Media, the politicians, and the general public continue to shake their heads in disbelief, and ask the same puzzling questions, trying to understand how such tragedy could be allowed to happen to other human beings in the great city of Toronto – the beautiful:

 

 

What would cause another human being to reach a point in their life where they would choose to live and die on the streets of Toronto during the cold Canadian winter – rather than choose to live with other human beings, even for a night in a shelter for homeless people?

 

 

Is there something wrong with a Society that allows its people and groups and agencies and institutions to attack and injure and disrespect and degrade and diminish and demoralize that human being throughout their mortal life – to the point where those deep wounds and painful memories, that have been inflicted on their heart and mind and soul, become so unbearably painful, that such a man or woman or teenager find more peace of mind in living by themselves on the cold streets of Toronto than the idea of having to live with others, or even stay in a shelter with others, to protect their mortal life?

 

 

We are each other’s keepers my human brothers and sisters

And its time for us to come together and be there for each other

Bonds of pure and Sacred light that cannot be broken

glue each of us together now and forever.

Whatever harm is done to one wounds you me and everyone.

If we cannot help each other let us try not to hurt one another

Because whatever you do deeply touches me and you!

Avatar Galextra

 

 

What would motivate a family shelter management to treat a caring and courageous family in such a heartless and cold manner on the eve of Christmas?  Why is my homeless family being evicted from a motel room that the government of Ontario has been paying for us to stay in for the last two years at this time of the year:

 

1.) Is it because we are the family that embarrassed both the municipal and the provincial government of this province by living on their respective premises for a short period of time during the over eight months that we lived as a homeless family on the streets of Toronto during 1990?

 

2.) Maybe it is because we are the family with a wife and a mother who spent the entire decade of the 1980’s calling government agencies, politicians, and the media to complain about one injustice after another that was being done to me and my family over the years.

 

3.) Could it the reason be because we are a family who choose to educate both of our children at home in a Society that forces every parent to put their children in a public or separate or private school or face the consequences of being harassed by school principles, school district supervisors, children’s aid workers, and a horde of government workers from one agency or another?

 

 4.) Perhaps the reason is that we are the family that wrote and recorded and released a song called A Province Under Seige, that shows the Mike Harris government, and his “Common Sense Revolution” to be a heartless and cruel attack against the weakest and poorest and most deprived people in the province of Ontario; while making sure that he poured billions of dollars of the money that belongs to the people of the province into the pockets of his wealthy buddies inside and outside the corporate culture in this province.

 

5.) Might the reason be because my husband and I are the couple who wrote and recorded and released another social justice song called “A Voice Of Our Own”, to help the campaign of an African Canadian owned corporation named Milestone Communication in its campaign to get a license to operate the first commercial radio station in all of Canada; and which it eventually managed to do in its following application, in the form of an urban music station called Flow 93.5.

 

6) I wonder if the reason could turn out to be because my husband and I took a lead role in the four month long protest that was staged against the Showboat Musical Production, that portrayed Africans who were enslaved on American plantations in a racists and bigoted light; and because we also participated in a number of protests against police shootings and killings of a number of our African Canadian youths especially, most of who were unarmed at the time; against unjust immigration policies of the Canadian government towards people of certain color; against the attempts of governments in Ontario to entrap and imprison our community leaders like Dudley Laws, in an attempt to discredit his credibility and destroy his ability to earn a living to look after his wife and their two children.

 

7.) Could it be because all the different levels of government that operate in the province of Ontario have finally decided that it is time to move against someone whom they have come to know to be a real God, after over a decade of using their electronic bugs to listen to every conversation, and film every private experience that I have had inside every home that my family and I have lived in since our family street protest was brought to an end in 1990.

8.) It could also possible turn out to be because the three levels of governments in this country have decided that this God has become too critical of governments and institutions and organizations that influence and shape the lives of Canadians in general, and they have decided that it is time to take steps to silence me.

 

9.) Maybe these same governments and institutions and agencies and organizations do not want me to finally publish the story of my life and work that I have spent the last four years working on, and especially the last two years working on for about 10 hours every day inside this motel, with my husband as my editor and typist.  I am the first Avatar in “recorded history” who has decided to share the story of her life and work with the public in her own words. Gods do not usually read or write books, as is true in my case – though we ‘read beings like an open book’ – and we prefer to speak to mortal beings from our mouths directly to their ears and into hearts.

 

 

Whatever the reason, or reasons, the fact remains that Family Residence intends to have the management of the motel that we have taken shelter inside for almost two years now – evict us from this room in the next few days.  We are an injured and traumatized family, who refuse to live in the same distressful situations, among the same people, who have attacked and assaulted and injured us physically and verbally and emotionally and mentally for too many years too severely in too many areas of our lives. We are a family with three walking wounded, who can no longer live in the community among other human beings, especially when we have to share a house with other tenants, or even live inside an apartment complex with other tenants.

 

 

The painful memories of what has been done to us as a family still haunt our wounded minds, and the deep emotional and mental injuries that have been inflicted on my family of walking wounded over the years are deep and still raw, and not yet healed – and may not heal completely by the end of our mortal lives.

 

 

We are a family of walking wounded, who cannot survive on the frozen streets of Toronto especially during the Canadian winter, nor can we return to live in conditions that forced us to flee from those communities where we were being attacked and injured, and which caused us to end up on the streets in the first place.  This includes:

 

 

*Fleeing from the Ontario Housing apartment we lived in from 1979-1985, at 710 Trethewey Drive, to get away from a group of fellow tenants who spent their time harassing and trying to assault my family inside our apartment building for the last six months we lived there; and from a number of the so call “brothers” – who kept telling me that they were going to rape me one of these days, only because I would not give anyone of them the time of day.  It was also in that same apartment building that a mother of a teenage daughter, whom my husband and I had tried to help reconcile as a family, end up trying to kill me with a two by four.  I managed to escape with my life, but it took forty stitches to close the holes she made in my head with that weapon.

 

 

*Spending the last three of the four years (1985- 1988) we lived in the Metro Housing unit in the Jane and Finch corridor, living as hostages of the drug dealers and pimps and prostitutes who took over the housing project about a year after we moved there.  A few weeks before we managed to escape from that housing project to take refuge inside a family shelter, there were three shootings in that parking lot, which claimed the lives of two young men and injured a third.

 

 

*Being held prisoners during most of the year and a half inside a clammy and cramp and dumpy and rat and roach infested dungeon, which passed for a basement apartment in the community in which we lived on Coxwell Avenue near Gerrard St, from the summer of 1988 to the fall of 1989, by a group of twelve Caucasian and mostly adolescent “Canadian boys”, who physically and verbally assaulted my entire family over the course of that period of time, including spray painting me and my husband, cutting our son’s hair with a pair of scissors, and throwing her sister off her bicycle one day while they were playing across the road in the public park.

 

 

After I was falsely accused of assaulting one of those brats who had made it their business to terrorize my entire family, including giving us the middle finger and calling us niggers whenever they felt like it – by the parents of one of these untrained boys – I ended up being assaulted, charged, jailed, tried, and given a suspended sentence by a judge who was given evidence from the family doctor of that child that his parents had a history of physically abusing their adolescent son; and a judge who urged me to speak publicly in the future, and share my sound views about life with others, who need to hear them.

 

 

*Becoming prisoners of a homeless couple that my kind hearted, but psychically impaired husband, met one day and decided to invite them to live in the basement of the home we were renting at 17 Murray Road, in Downsview.  It took us over six months before we were finally able to get this couple, who both were drug addicts and using at the time, to leave our home; but not before they ran up a large telephone bill, and left without paying us any rent.

 

 

*Having to keep our children at home for most of their school years, and homeschool them ourselves, after both of them were physically assaulted on different occasions by a group of school children, in kindergarten and later on in grade school.  After she was swarmed and chased during a lunch break, all over the building of Samuel Hearne’s Public School, by a group of her fellow students, when she was a fourteen year old – whom she managed to escape from without them being able to catch her and assault her – Mahogohney lost all interest in attending any school ever again.

 

 

Those traumas left our beautiful and loving and wise daughter unable to reach out to form any friendship with her peers, caused her to hide her pain behind a lot of weight that she put on, become a recluse inside her home, and has left her with no desire to be among strangers, acquaintances, neighbors family members, and even professional people, like social workers, whenever they come around us, to meet with my husband or myself.

 

 

*Having my family being arrested and handcuffed and taken to a local police station the same day after we were evicted from our last place of residence, and decided to go to the grounds of the government of the city of Toronto to set up a tent home on February 6th, of 2003; and having our daughter and my husband and myself being made to remove all our clothes and expose our rectum area so that they can search our bodies for weapons or drugs or whatever they decided.  And that is just a tip of the iceberg of painful memories my wounded and abused family have had to live with every day.

 

 

Since my husband and I became a couple in the summer of 1975, in the city of Toronto, we have been evicted three different times from our place of residence – in 1991, 1997, and 2003.  And each time it was after we were pushed out of the workplace from refusing to tolerate being disrespected or degraded or even sexually assaulted on different occasions (in my case) by sexists and racists co-workers or managers or owners in different places of business where either of us have worked, or where we have both worked together in this city.  We are the only couple I know of who is living in the province of Ontario, or maybe even all the provinces and territories of Canada, who has been blacklisted from the workplace, and from earning a living to support ourselves as a family.

 

 

Neither my husband nor myself were willing, or are willing, to stroke the egos, or kiss the butts, or play with the loins of any of our co-workers, bosses, or anyone period – to get or keep a job, or move ahead in our careers. And after refusing to flirt or flaunt or entice or sleep with any of the hordes of men – and also women at times – at any of the different jobs that I have held over the years, who have tried to coax and forced me to do so: I was pushed out of the workplace and forced to live as a recluse inside my home with my children.

 

 

This was something that I enjoyed doing on a full-time basis since I became a mother of each of my children, for my family is my bottom line.  fter being forced to endure years of being abused by racists and sexists co-workers especially, and being pressured by other men into playing courting and mating games with other females, my husband was also pushed out of the workplace by these promiscuous and disrespectful co-workers and even people in management; and he also joined me in the late 1990’s as someone who was blacklisted from the workplace for refusing to go along in order to get along to get ahead financially in Society.

 

 

We are a family who has developed the abilities, and the sensitivity, to teach all of humanity how to use the body of Ancient Knowledge, embedded inside the core of their beings, to end the wars inside their own lives, so that they can learn to work in harmony with their fellow human beings; and finally put an end to the wars between the races, between the sexes, between the cultures, between the religions, and between the nations on this planet.

 

 

That is a big part of the job that I came to this diminished planet to do for all races of beings now living and dying on this planet, whether any person or group or government knows it or not, believes it or not, or even like it or not.  Gods are not just perfect and invincible beings, who bring beings into existence and bring existence into being, and then refuse to come to this Earth realm to live and work as a mortals in human bodies.

 

 

We cannot survive on the streets of Toronto during the Canadian winter, nor can we survive emotionally or mentally if we are forced to live in the same kind of communities among other people, because of the damages they have inflicted on our bodies and hearts and minds.  Nor should we have to, or be forced by any agency or institution to even try.  But if Family Residence is allowed to force us from this motel room onto the streets of Toronto to live, we will stay there until we die.

 

 

 What they are doing is wrong, and any government that gives them the legal right to commit such a criminal act is a government that has lost its humanity, and does not care about the welfare or the well being of a Canadian family who respects and treasures all of humanity so deeply – that they are willing to fight to their last breath for the rights of all human beings to live with dignity and respect and in peace.

 

 

We are looking for help to find a place to live in, with rooms that are not the size of pigeon coops, and a subsidized house that we do not have to share with any roaches or rodents or human beings; and we are also looking for help from any person or group or organization that can help us to get my manuscript published, so that we can earn the revenues we need to be able to afford the home intend to live in, with a lot of wooded and beautiful acres of land around it.

 

 

We hope you can help us to help ourselves so that we will be able to help all of humanity and all other races of beings to live in harmony and peace and prosperity on this planet. Only a life that is worth living is worth fighting for, and even dying for – and all of life is worth living for and dying for.  This God, and her battered and abused family, is fully and painful aware of this eternal truth; and we are each ready and willing and able to put our mortal lives on the line to live, and even to die, for this truly priceless truth.

 

Seasons Greetings

and peace and Goodwill to the entire human race,

and to all races of beings

living and sharing life as mortal tenants

of The Mother Of The Earth

from a Canadian Family of three people

who care about all families

living and learning and growing and dying,

on this plundered and injured and ancient planet today.

 Galextra and Andraggon Kavanaugh

_____________

 

 

Part Two:

Evicted  from a family shelter on the eve of Xmas eve.

 

We sent this letter to as many different media people and places that we had the time and the opportunity to do, hoping that one or more of them would cover our story.  None of them did, except for the host of a radio station at CKLN by the name of Norman Otis Richmond, the same individual who was also the first person in the media to play, “A Province Under Seige”, after it was recorded.  Norman had us call into his Saturday morning show, to speak about what was happening to us; and he did so only about two days after Andraggon contacted him and informed him about our being evicted from that motel.

 

 

A reporter from The Toronto Star came to that motel room and interviewed us for that story, but he later informed us that the Star would not print the story.  We also had a reporter from Share Newspaper who came by and not only interviewed all three of us for the story, but he also took pictures of us in that motel room.  He also turned out to be the same reporter, Mr Roy Greene, who covered our story as a homeless family who lived on the streets of Toronto during 1990.  But Share did not print our story either.

 

 

On December 18th, at about 8 p.m. that cold Saturday evening there was a loud knock on our door of the Motel room #325.  We did not need to wonder who it was, but we were surprised that those police officers would come that late in the evening to evict us from that room, instead of doing so on Thursday afternoon, or even Friday or Saturday afternoon.  This was it.  We were being thrown out onto the streets of Toronto exactly a week before Christmas.  For the past four or so days we spent most of that time packing up our belongings, and even putting some of them back into a public storage space, that we were renting. There were two officers, both Caucasians, one male and the other female, who escorted us from that room.

 

 

My family did not put up resistance.  In fact, my husband and I took the time while we were getting bundled up to go outside, to inform these two police officers why we were being thrown out of this motel room at that time.  One of these officers even tried to get the motel clerk on duty to allow us to leave our possessions in that room overnight, or to even allow us to spend the night in that room, and in the morning we would leave that motel peacefully and calmly as the day we first entered that motel almost two years earlier.

 

 

This motel clerk refused to allow us, or even our belongings, to stay overnight in that motel room.  So we ended up taking as much of our things as we could with us, that we had packed inside our three backpacks, and a few other bags, with us.  The officers offered to have us be put up in another shelter for the night, or longer – or rather they informed us that they had found another shelter for us to stay in; and that Family Residence was willing to pay for the cost of the cab to take us and our belongings there.

 

 

Andraggon and I were struck by the twisted irony of the situation that we were now facing as a homeless family who was being evicted from a motel, we had been staying for about 23 months.  We could not believe that the management of this family shelter was actually offering to pay for us to be taken to another shelter to stay in, after they had just given the authorization for the authorities to evict us from this one.  What was the point in putting my family through all this stress and duress on the eve of Christmas, to have us thrown out of one shelter and be thrown into another one right after?

 

 

We were not animals; we were not criminals.  We were three caring and conscientious and spiritually centered individuals who were fighting for the rights and the future of all families of all races, and all races of beings, who were being treated unjustly on this planet.  That was our only crime.  And we were willing to go through whatever painful and degrading situation and treatment that others inflicted on us, to fight to bring Justice and Equality into the lives of all of life living and learning and dying on this poisoned and injured planet.  And for that crime, we were found guilty by the defenders and protectors of the Establishment in the city of Toronto and the province of Ontario.

 

 

We declined the offer.  Instead we gathered our belongings, except for certain things that we could not carry by hand, and we packed them into a taxi, gave the motel key to the two officers, wished them both well; and drove away in that cab from a place where we had spent the last 23 months taking refugee as a homeless inside one of it’s motel rooms.  The Gateway Motel had closed its doors to us; Scarborough Family Residence had gone through with their threats for a number of months to put us out of their shelter for homeless families.

 

 

As we drove from that motel, there was only one place where we could go, or was prepared to go – and that was on the streets of Toronto.  We had no home, we had no job between the three of us, that paid any money; and we had no money to even afford to pay to stay in another motel room even for a night.  There was no way that either my husband or our 22 year daughter, or myself were willing to take shelter in another family shelter.

 

 

We had held our ground, and we had refused to move into a second floor apartment owned by a co-op called WoodTree Coop, that Family Residence Scarborough manager had arranged for us to move into.  It was an apartment inside an old house that was filled with problems that my family did not want to have to deal with.  This apartment unit was too small; the rooms inside it were too small, the stairways were too narrow, and the place needed a lot of upgrading before it was ready to be occupied by any family.  I even asked the manager of that co-op to knock out the wall that separated the small room that my husband and I were expected to use as our bedroom so that it can become one that was large enough for both of us to sleep in comfortably, if you can call it that.

 

 

It was also a house that had a problem with roaches and rodents, which are two types of creatures that my family has been forced to live with, on at least two different occasions in the past – for a period of about a year and a half in that dungeon of a basement apartment on Coxwell Avenue in the late 1980’s; and for about four years with hordes of roaches in the thirteen room house that we lived in for over seven years at 48 Dunmail Drive.  The only kind of rodents or roaches that this God and her daughter wanted to see were none at all – not even dead ones.  I may be a God, but I have no desire to live with other beings who carry a world of diseases with them, or who insist on breaking into your home to live and reproduce; and help themselves to your food and water and everything in that house that can be eaten, and is not nailed down.  No thank you!

 

 

Yet the creatures that my emotionally wounded family of three adults had an even more difficult time with living above or under or even next to were not the ones with four or more legs.  The rodents and the roaches were creatures that made our lives extremely stressful, and unhealthy, because of the different viruses they carry.  But they were no match when it came to the living hell that the two legged and five fingered race of beings of the human kind have put my family through over the years.  The apartment we were supposed to live in was one of two that was inside that house at 10 Spring Grove Avenue.  The first floor apartment was a two bedroom one that was about to be vacated by the tenant currently living there with her children.

 

 

My family could tolerate sharing a place with rodents and roaches, if we had to, until we are able to find a way to drive them out of that place of residence.  But we are no longer ready or able or even willing emotionally or mentally to live inside a house, or even inside an apartment building, with other human beings. The Staff and management of the family shelter, where we had taken refugee inside for almost two years were made aware of this painful fact by myself, my husband, and our daughter, during many meetings that we held with them since the first month we arrived there.

 

 

After the living hell that I have been forced to endure, at the hands of the psychopath who called himself my first husband, my soul mate and current husband of over two decades – and families, friends, neighbors, and others who entered my home over the years, or who lived above or under or next to where I lived – the last thing that I was prepared or even willing to do was to live inside a house or even a duplex apartment complex that I had to share with another family.

 

 

My mangled heart, and ailing body, cannot not survive the duress of that kind of life; my soul mate and his high blood pressure and his asthma cannot survive that kind of trauma any longer, even though he brought it upon himself by the years of cheating and lying he did to me with every woman or teenage girl who came anywhere near our home; or who lived in the building or the neighborhood we lived in, who gave him the time of day.  Our adult daughter cannot survive having to see her mother and father in such turmoil again, and also be put through such distress again, after growing up in such a stressful environment: seeing her father abusing her mother emotionally and mentally and seeing the devastating impact those abuses have had on the peace of mind and the physical health of her mother.

 

 

We had become a “family of walking wounded” – and both myself and my daughter were victims of the sins of her father and my husband; and  Andraggon was a victim of the ghosts and demons of his past that haunted his mind, and lived inside his memory.

 

 

That apartment in that old and small and worn out house was the last place that my wounded family had any intentions of living inside, as long as we had to share it with another family.  Even though both apartments were separated from each other, both families living there would share the laundry room in the basement of that house, and each would also have a storage room of their own down there.

 

 

My family had agreed to move into that apartment in late November, after Leslie Jourdene, the manager of Scarborough Family Residence, had informed us that our time in that shelter had run out at the start of the November.  During the last meeting that we held with her, we made it clear to we had serious concerns about the idea of living there.  However, she managed to convince my rationale minded husband to see the move to that apartment “as a stepping stone” for our family to move into.

 

She had a point, according to my spiritually visually impaired husband.  While we worked to get my manuscript published so that we can finally have the revenues we needed to move into our own home, we could be doing so while living inside an apartment inside a house; and one where the tenant on the first floor was also about to move out within the next 30 days.  And Leslie had assured us that it would take a few months for Wood Tree Coop to interview and find the right tenant for that apartment; and also another month or so for the co-op to do all the repairs to that apartment before that family can move in.  For my husband that meant that he would have at least a three month window to fast track my manuscript to the right publisher, event though he did not know where he would get the money from to do so; or even to make sure that our family did not starve for too many days each of those three months.

 

 

He was the one who watched the family’s budget like a prey watches its predatory as it moves in to try to devour it.  That was a job he appointed himself as the general manager of the family’s financial affairs for years now.  And over the years he has learned to stretch the family’s shoe string budget to the point where he had become a master at keeping track of every dollar, of every bus ticket, of every tea bag, of every roll of toilet paper that his family had to last us for each week or each month.

 

 

My rationale minded husband has become the rationer for his family, to the point where he has found a way to get us through each day for years now.  His family loves and respects him for the great job he does, but we also become impatient and upset with him at times when he reminds of such details like -  “we have only three rolls of toilet paper left to last us for the month, so please don’t waste any of it;” or “we have only five days supply of sugar or potato or flour or rice or milk or tea bags – or whatever item that we happen to be in short supply of for that week or that month.”  A food rationer is never welcomed for too long in their own home for sooner than later those hungry family members will grumble and complain or even threaten to eat that food ration all up to fill their hungry bellies.

 

 

The more we thought about having to live in that 2nd floor apartment, with those rodents and those roaches  - and the two legged creatures who would be living on the first floor apartment: the more we realized that we were a family that could not live under such stressful and painful conditions.  So we changed our minds, and we informed the manager of Family Residence of this decision.  That was the last meeting that we had with her; and it was in that meeting that we held our ground; and also during which Leslie informed us that our stay at Family Residence was up; and that we had to make arrangements to either pay the motel out of our own empty pockets, for them to continue to allow us to stay there or be evicted from that motel room.

____________________________

 

 

Part  Three:

Evicted from the Family Shelter (Gateway Motel)

by 2 Police Officer 2 nights before Xmas

 

The taxicab pulled up in front of the place where my homeless family, who had just been thrown out of a shelter for homeless families, would now call home.  Andraggon paid the cabby, and he helped us to take our three back packs, two small boxes, two folded chairs, and one folded blanket out of his cab.  As he drove away, we calmly gathered our worldly belongings that we carried with us, and walked up the frozen steps into the lobby of our new home – I knew that we had made the right decision to seek shelter inside this familiar yet strange place that we intended to make our home for as long as we were able to.

 

 

Our home was not a room, nor was it a house, nor was it even an apartment, or even a building of any kind.  Our new home was going to be nothing less than the lobby of the Scarborough Family Residence.  This was the place where we had taken shelter almost two years ago; this was the shelter that had taken my family in out of the cold; this was also the place where we were assured by its management that it would never evict us from; this was also the place from which my family was thrown out of the shelter for homeless families.

 

 

This was now the place where we would set up our new place of residence inside the lobby of the Scarborough Family Residence.  We were a family with no place to go where we could have any peace of mind, or even live in a place where we were not constantly stressed out from having to live with another family inside an old house, or from having to live with rodents or roaches.

 

 

We had no place to go that we could call home; it was too cold for us to go and live on the streets of Toronto as we intended to do, if and when we were told to leave that shelter.  So we decided as a family to make the lobby of this family residence our new residence.  None of us knew how long it would remain our new home.  It did not matter to this God whether we were allowed to remain in that lobby for a day, or even a few hours, or even a week.  It did not matter.  What mattered was that we took that stance, and stayed in that lobby of that building where the decision was made to give us shelter and then throw us out of that shelter less than two years later.  It was the only thing that we could do; it was the only right thing to do; and that was exactly what we did.

 

 

For about an hour, we made that lobby of that Family Residence our new home.  And we would have stayed there longer if we were not asked to leave that lobby by the same two police officers who had evicted us from room 325 of the Gateway Motel less than sixty minutes earlier.  As we sat on those seats in that cold lobby, these two officers came over to us after they had gone into the main office and spoken to a few staff members working there, a few times, and informed us that the management of that Family shelter does not want us staying in their lobby; and that they want us to leave the grounds of that shelter right now.

 

 

Andraggon did not want to leave.  It was his idea for us to sit in the lobby of this building.  His intention was for us to take a stance, and refuse to leave that lobby.  And when we do: he expects that the police would have no choice but to charge all three of us with trespassing on government property; and then arrest each of us right there; and take us to jail inside the nearest police department.  As he put its:

 

 

“That is the most powerful stance that we can take as a family to force the local media to bring our story to the attention of the public.  Imagine the headline: “Homeless family thrown out of lobby of a shelter for homeless family, where they have stayed for two years, onto the streets a week before Christmas.  That would put the management of this shelter in a position that would show them as a group of bureaucrats who were heartless and cruel and insensitive towards a homeless family.  The story of our eviction from this family shelter would receive a lot of mileage.

 

 

The knowledge that a homeless family was arrested and jailed for sitting inside the lobby of a family shelter, and making it their new home, would embarrass the management of that shelter, the Director of Toronto Hostel Service, Mr Phil Brown, and even the government of both the city of Toronto and the province of Ontario in the process.  I do not like the idea of being arrested and stripped searched and treated like a criminal by these police officers; and I especially don’t like the idea of my wife or our daughter being put through this awful and humiliating ordeal either.  But it is a window of opportunity that has opened up for us to use right up until Christmas day; and one which we should consider serious taking advantage of.”

 

 

There was no way that I was going to agree to having any one of my family member put through such humiliating and stressful ordeal.  There was no way that I would willing allow anyone to force me (or my daughter, or my husband) to take off any or all of my clothes, and then bend over and allow them to put their filthy hands inside my womb, to look for anything.  I don’t care if they have a gun, or wear a uniform or carry a badge or any kind.  They do not have that right to treat any human being in such an inhumane manner.  I don’t care how much such an ordeal would increase the chances of us getting our story covered by the local media.  Enough is enough!  And I will not have my body or my womb violated ever again by anyone for any reason.  Nor do I want to have my husband or our daughter endure such degrading treatment.

 

 

When the policemen asked us to leave the lobby of that family residence, we did not refused to do so as my husband would have preferred for us to do.  We got up and packed our belongings inside a shopping cart, which Andraggon went down the road to find in the parking lot of a No Frills Store about fifteen minutes away.  When he finally came back with it, we moved our new home on four small wheels from in front of the lobby of that homeless shelter – right in front of that property onto the sidewalk against the wall that was next to the entrance to that building.

 

 

We were not prepared to sit outside in that icy cold and extremely windy weather.  On the night that we had been thrown out of our motel room, and out of the lobby of the Scarborough Family Residence, a winter storm was waiting for us.  My Andraggon even wondered if any of my fellow Gods had anything to do with our getting this God awful weather, or even if I had something to do with it.  I did not say anything to him, for even if I did have anything to do with it, or any of the other Gods, the fact was that it was here; and it would stay here until who knows how long.  For this God, however, even if it stayed for only a half hour – it would have been thirty minutes too long.

 

 

My family huddled against the twenty foot white wall that guarded one of the sides of the entrance that led to the grounds of this family shelter from which we were now barred from even entering.  We placed our two folded chairs right up against that wall, to try to shield us from the cold weather.  And believe me! That night we truly needed to be shielded from the cold.  What we did not know at the time, was that it had become so cold that December night that a weather warning was issued, which meant that the government of Toronto had issued a warning for everyone to come in out of the cold and take shelter in a warm place that night.

 

 

I was in trouble; and I knew it.  The icy wind was forcing its frosty breathe inside the pores of my ailing body, and I was starting to shiver as I sat in that folding chair and huddled against my daughter, who was also doing her best to try to keep her body from freezing.  I knew that I would not get through this storm in one piece.  As a God, I have a magnetic presence, and a magnetizing body of Cosmic energy that comes with the territory; and which I accept as a natural part of my existence for a long time now.  But my body was also a magnet in a way that I wished it was not.  It was a magnet that absorbed hot or cold temperature like a fish in water – whether I was doing something as simply as opening the door of a refrigerator, or standing over a hot stove to heat up some food, or even just opening a window or a door long enough for a draft of cold or even cool air to blow on my face or even just my back.

 

 

My immune system was in bad shape from all the different forms of chemicals that have invaded and attacked my ailing body over the years.  I was starting to take steps to reverse the damage to it, after years of making the decision that I did not want to continue living much longer on this planet, especially at those times when I felt deep anguish and a lot of mental pain from the wounding memories that resurfaced at times when even I did not expect them to.

 

 

My husband use to look at me for years and wonder how it was that I did not use my “mythical abilities” as he puts it to heal my own body.  He knew that what he had done to me over the years, by behaving like a “married bachelor” over and over again during most of the two or more decades we have been married, had gone a long way to cause me to be in the ailing condition I have been for years.  And I would just look right back at him without even saying a word, or without even feeling that I had to.  He knows that when I am good and ready I will do anything that I am ready to do, whether its healing my ailing body, healing the ailing body of The Mother Of The Earth in a way that only a God who is tight with that ancient being has the right to do; or even heal the hearts and minds of an entire planet of beings – who are ready and willing to learn to heal their own lives.

 

 

I knew, without being a seer, that I was going to end up in rough shape at the end of this stormy night; but I had a job to do and I was going to go through with it even if I ended up in the hospital the next day.  But the person that I was even more worried about was our daughter Mahogohney.  She was about half my age, and in excellent health considering the kind of life that she has lived as a member of a family that has lived in poverty almost all of its life together.

 

 

 The only problem she had, except for the extra weighed that she gained over the years from being locked inside our home with myself and her brother, was that her wisdom teeth were infected and needed to be removed and replaced for over a year now.  But we did not have the $1,000 or so that a dentist told us it was going to cost for her to get that done.  So whenever she needed to be taken out of pain, we either take her to see a family physician at a local Walk In Clinic to get a prescription for some penicillin for her to take for about a week to bring down the infection, or give her an Advil or two which Andraggon sometimes tries to keep in the house for that kind of emergency.

 

 

Our daughter was not dressed for this storm.  She had on enough warm clothes to keep herself from freezing in that icy wind, and she was dressed properly from her head all the way to just above her ankles.  Mahogohney was wearing a pair of boots that was not designed to keep her feet warm even during a regular winter night in Toronto.  Our daughter was wearing a pair of my own size seven and a half boots, my old pair of Doc Martins, on her size eight feet.  They were almost too tight for her feet, and left her hardly any room to wear a pair of sock that would even be considered a pair that one could wear to keep their feet warm during a cold Canadian winter.

 

 

But that was the pair that she decided to wear on this occasion.  She had another pair that her father wanted her to wear, but our 22 year old fashion conscious daughter just did not want to step out of that motel room wearing a pair of “second hand” black army boots that Andraggon had bought for her, the same day that he also bought himself a used pair of size 12 army boots from an army surplus store a few weeks after we had taken shelter inside Scarborough Family Residence inside room 222 of the Gateway Inn almost two years earlier.

 

 

 Andraggon was proud of himself for being able to pick up pair of “rugged boots” for himself, and another pair for our adult daughter, after we had returned the tent to that surplus store that we had set up on the grounds of New City Hall for a number of hours before police officers from a nearby precinct arrested and jailed us, and confiscated our tent and all our belongings that we had stored inside it.  We had hoped to have gotten back our money but we had to settle for a credit from that store, which we used to purchase those two used armies boots, a big army bag, and some padding for inside those boots.

 

 

Mahogohney did not want to wear her pair of size nine (in men’s) army boots.  They made her feet look bigger than they were, and she did not like that, nor did I.  And even if she had, she did not have room inside them for her to wear a pair of winter socks that was thick enough to keep her feet warm.  But they may have been warmer than my Doc Martin’s were on her feet – just barely warmer.  Andraggon and I were becoming more and more concerned about the health of our daughter during the stormy cold weather that night.   She was trying her best to keep her spirit up as she crouched over in that her folded chair and huddled against mine while we snuggled up next to each other to try to keep both our bodies warm.

 

 

My soul mate was a real soldier that night as I knew that he would be.  He placed the shopping cart with most of our belongings inside it right next to where I was sitting to try to shield both myself and our daughter from the bitterly cold and powerful wind.  Then he placed two of our backpacks back to back against each other on the sidewalk a short distance away from us, as a signal for motorists driving by, or people walking by, that there were three human beings who were taking shelter out in the cold that night, right near the sidewalk right next to a shelter for homeless families.

 

 

It was a powerful and moving image for anyone walking or driving by that stormy night to see three people huddled to keep warm right in front of a shelter for homeless family.  That was an image that my image conscious husband wanted the public to see, and become affected by, that night and for the rest of the days and nights that we intended to stay there; and he especially wanted the management of that shelter to become concerned and embarrassed by the sight of us being there.

 

 

Though he was an asthmatic, with high blood pressure, my Extraterrestrial guy was remaining calm, and seemed to be keeping himself warm as he stood there near the sidewalk, standing guard over his ailing and cold wife and our shivering daughter.  When he saw what was happening to our daughter, he dug out a pair of one of his thick and warm winter socks and slipped them over the pair of boots that she was wearing, to try to warm up her feet.  Then he dug out another pair for me to wear on my hands as an extra pair of gloves.  I am not a fan of cold climates, having lived all of my teens on the tropical Island of Trinidad and Tobago but one of the things I have learned about keeping mortal bodies warm is that it is always important to keep the top of the head and the sole of the feet warm at all times, to avoid getting colds in the head or even in the chest.

 

 

Andraggon’s two pairs of thick winter socks that he loaned myself and our daughter to try to keep our bodies warm did not work.  I even gave our daughter one of my winter coats that I was using to cover the lower part of my shivering body, which we had brought with us, to try to help.  That did not work either.  Mahogohney was truly brave that night, and for over an hour she and I huddled next to each other to share our body heat between us.  But her cold feet stated to fail her, and I discovered that she was sobbing silently.

 

 

My family was in serious trouble, and we had no place to go.  We did not even know at the time that the city of Toronto had issued a “severe weather warning that night”, or that the temperature had plunged to under 30 degree below zero with the wind chill factor thrown in.  What we became painful aware of though, was that it had become very dangerous for our health within a short period of time, for us to remain in that icy cold storm for much longer.

 

 

Each of us was becoming painfully aware of a burning sensation that was developing under the sole of each of our feet.  We were starting to get frostbites; we were starting to develop hypothermia.  We knew that we had to find a place to thaw out three pairs of frozen feet; and we knew that we had to do so quickly to stop the burning sensation that was taking hold of our frozen feet.

 

After a brief discussion between us, we made the decision to pack up our belongings inside our rented No frills shopping (or “poor man’s taxi” ) as my husband calls it because it cost him only a quarter to free that cart from the parking lot where No frills stashed them, one attached to the other by a metal key that unlocks when you put twenty five cents inside the slot of the other cart it was attached to.  He did not even have to pay for this one, because he found it just sitting by itself next to a line of other carts that were locked to each other in a long row; and he was proud of the deal he managed to get to save a coin to be used for one of the many phone call he intended to make that night to the media as soon as we had taken shelter in a warm and safe public place.

 

 

We were not ending the street protest that we were staging on the sidewalk in front of the Scarborough Family Residence for homeless family that was responsible for making the decision that caused us to be thrown out the street on two different occasions that night.  Nope!  We were only retreating from that spot long enough to warm up our frozen feet in order to keep from getting hypothermia.

 

 

The only problem we had, however, was one of finding a place to go that was close by to start thawing out our frozen feet as soon as possible.  We were each having problems walking on our burning feet.  Even Andraggon, who had on one of his thick and warm pairs of winter socks inside his warm pair of army boots, was finding it tough to walk on his frozen feet anymore.

 

The only place that we could seek shelter in was the family shelter that had thrown us out of their shelter program, and then had us thrown out of the lobby of the building, that very night.  All three of us spoke briefly about the prospect of going back on that property, and staying inside that lobby again, just to thaw out our frozen feet and keep them from getting frostbites.  I have heard, and saw too many stories of people who have had to have their toes or legs or fingers amputated from getting severe frost bites.  And neither I nor my husband wanted to risk such a fate happening to any of the three of us.

 

 

We should have turned around and gone right back on that property, and parked our frozen bodies right in the lobby of that shelter for homeless families.  We were not only a homeless family all over again, but we were a family that was starting to develop hypothermia very quickly.  But we did not enter that property.  Instead we decided to seek shelter in the lobby of the motel that was right next door to Scarborough Family Residence.

 

 

We did not know if we would have been able to even get inside the lobby of that motel; or even if we were going to be allowed to even enter it by the night staff on duty, whoever he or she happened to be working that night.  Some motels keep the door to their lobby locked at night, as the staff of The Gateway Inn did during the two years we stayed there, whenever Andraggon had to go there on a few occasions to pick up or drop off a hot plate that needed changing for example. And we hoped that the night staff at this one did not follow this procedure and kept their front door locked.

 

Andraggon pushed his poor man’s cab as quickly and as safely as he could and my frozen family hobbled towards that motel that was about fifty yards away.  My soul mate was worrying out loud along the way about if we were going to be able to get into the lobby of this motel as we moved closer and closer towards its entrance.  I was too frozen to say anything to him, nor was our daughter in any mood to either.  But she and I were in good spirits, and I saw that as a seer.  Where there was a will a way would be found, and I knew that there were three people who had a strength of will that was stronger than any family on this planet that I could think of.  I did not know if the front door to the lobby of that motel was unlocked; but what I did know was that it would be after we got there by the staff or by fate.

 

 

As we pulled up to the entrance of that motel, my husband decided that he was going to hide the shopping cart and keep it out of the view of the staff on duty that night.  He did not want this person to see that we had pulled up in front of that motel with a shopping cart that was filled with our worldly possessions.  So my soul mate pushed that cart up against the corner of the side of the entrance to the lobby of that motel, and parked it there.  Then he went and pulled the handle of that door, and wallah! – it opened.  All three of breathe a sigh of relief, as Andraggon held that door wide open so that Mahogohney and I could slip past him into that warm lobby, which we did quietly, before he also did right afterwards.  All three of us breathe another long sigh of relief with the knowledge that we had managed to find shelter from that storm inside what turned out to be the smallest motel lobby we had ever been inside.

 

 

No one else was in that lobby, which did not come as a surprise to any of us given that it was late at night and cold as the dickens outside.  No one was around in the office of that motel either – at least we did not see anyone in sight.  My nearly frostbitten family became as quite as a group of deaf mutes.  This was a golden opportunity for us to defrost our cold bodies, especially the burning sensations that all three of us had complained to each other about feeling in the soles of our feet, for what seemed like at least thirty long and painful minutes earlier.  We each realized that the situation that we had walked into was set up by fate for us to enter the lobby of a motel after midnight, and not be seen or even be heard entering it, by the motel staff that was on duty that night.  If we had been, Andraggon and I were ready to convince the staff on duty to allow us to stay in the lobby of that motel until our frozen feet had thawed out.

 

 

My husband even told me later that if the night staff in that motel had seen us enter that lobby, and told us to leave – after we had asked to be allowed to stay until our feet had thawed out – that he would have refused to have us to do until our toes were no longer frozen.  Even if that heartless motel staff had called the police to have us removed from that lobby,  my husband would have insisted that we would not leave until the cops had showed up and asked us to leave. It would have been a strange situation for my family if that situation had taken place.

 

 

We would have been a homeless family who was evicted from a motel room, the lobby of a homeless shelter, and the lobby of the motel right next to it – for a total of three times in the space of less than three hours.  That was a record that we did not want to set that night; and knowing our rotten luck that night with all that was happening to us, I would not have been surprised if the two police officers that would have showed up to remove us from the lobby of this motel room turned out to be the same two officers who had evicted us the two previous times that night.

 

 

But I was a God; and I do not deal in hypotheticals.  For about fifteen minutes or more three people sat or stood silently inside the lobby of the office of a motel, as the icy wind roared loudly that stormy night.  They spoke in a whispered as if they did not want to be heard, and they kept themselves out of the view of anyone who was inside that office, who might have come to the front desk for some reason or another; as if they knew that this person would not have allowed them to stay inside that warm lobby even for a short while just to warm up their frozen ears and feet especially.

 

 

For what seemed like hours, my husband and our daughter and myself remained out of view of the night staff who was nowhere to be seen during those precious 600 or so seconds that were provide to us by Fate, so that our nearly hypothermia bodies could use the warm heat that filled the air of that small lobby, to restore heat back into our frostbitten and exhausted feet.

 

 

As if on queue from an unseen director who was orchestrating events that night inside that warm motel lobby, as soon as each of us had warmed up our cold bodies and thawed out our frozen feet the night staff of that motel appeared near the front of that office and spotted us.  He was an older man, of East Indian heritage, who seemed as if he was someone who looked like he was qualified to work as an office staff inside a motel. When he spotted us, this man gave us a surprise that neither my husband or daughter or myself will ever forget, during a brief conversation he had with Andraggon.

 

 

This man asked my husband what we were doing inside that lobby, and Andraggon told him that  “we were taking shelter from the storm for a few minutes until our frozen bodies thawed out and warmed up.”  My family will never forget words that this night staff spoke to my stranded family during the middle of that stormy and deadly cold night:

 

 

“You cannot stay here. You will have to leave now.  Go next door if you want a place to keep warm.”

 

I wanted to give this cold hearted man a piece of my mind, but I was too shocked by the inhumane way in which he spoke to my family that stormy night.  He had no right to treat three human beings as if they were not fully human; and as if they did not deserve to be treated with compassion and respect and with dignity.  I wanted to chastise him for the insensitive and uncaring manner in which he treated three fellow human beings who had taken shelter out of the cold during one of the coldest nights of the year.

 

 

He did not have the moral right to treat us in such a cold hearted manner, when all we were asking from him was for him to allow us the opportunity to take some time to warm up our frozen and ailing bodies before we turned around and headed out right back into that 35 degree below zero weather.  He did not have that right, and what he did was dead wrong!  We did not ask him for a cup of warm coffee or hot tea or even for a cup of warm or even cold water to share between us.  We did not ask him for anything that he could not afford to give us, for all we asked for to give us was some precious time: every second of which we were using to restore heat back inside our still partially cold bodies before we ventured back outside in the icy cold and very windy night.

 

 

But I did not say one single word to this heartless human being.  Neither did anyone else in my family.  Our feet had not completely thawed out, but the burning sensation, which was a signed of frost bite on the way, had disappeared from three pairs of tired and relieved feet that belonged to three of the most warm hearted and caring human beings living on the stomach of The Mother Of The Earth today.  Each of us was too shaken and saddened and moved in a painful way by the shocking and callous manner that we were just treated in by another human beings.  We just looked at that misguided and mislead man, and gathered ourselves, and walked out of that warm lobby as quietly and as softly as we had entered it less than twenty or so minutes earlier.

 

The storm had not died down, but all three of us were more ready now to cope with its icy wind and frozen air than we had been over 600 seconds earlier.  Our three pairs of feet were warmer, our three spirits felt much lighter, and our three minds were calmer.  I do not like to remember the details of that painful night.  I have too many painful memories that I have been carrying inside me for years, which I am also not eager to bring to the surface of my conscious mind.  So I will not share much more of the painful details of what happened to my wronged family that night.

 

From that motel lobby, we decided to head for shelter in an all night coffee shop that was about a good distance from that motel.  It was the only place that was open that hour of the night, though neither myself nor our daughter do not drink coffee, we were grateful to be able to take shelter in a Tim Horton’s Coffee shop.  For what seemed like a mile or more, Andraggon pushed that full shopping cart on the sideway north along Kingston Road, which was a main road in that part of Scarborough, while Mohogohney and I pushed our tired and cold bodies to make sure that we kept up with him.

 

 

 

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