Rest In Peace, Goldie Faye Solomon of Port Chester, NY

Goldie Faye Solomon
May 19, 1926 - March 26, 2023

I was just notified that one of the persons responsible for shaping me into the person I am today has passed away. If this seems like a long obituary, it's because Goldie Faye Solomon was the epitome of a community hero.

Goldie taught me what it means to be part of a community, to care for the community you live in, to have respect and care for others, and to have pride in your community. Most importantly, she taught me the value of being involved in your community, attending public meetings, going to community events, to school events open to the public, of supporting our young students in their endeavors as she supported me those many years ago.

Goldie lived to the ripe age of 96, even at that age she was out there marching with the local Port Chester High School Marching Band, attending government meetings, going to the high school's dramatic performances, attending the school's athletic events, and cheering our young students on. She was a community and government watchdog, calling out government officials when they were want to take a turn down the wrong path.

She wasn't afraid to speak her mind and didn't care what people thought of her. Some called her the unofficial mayor of Port Chester. Me, I simply called her Goldie. And whether you liked, disliked, disagreed, or agreed with her, if you are from Port Chester, NY, then you know that she will be deeply missed.

Reprinted From the Port Chester Beautification Commission:

Question: Who in Port Chester knows Goldie Solomon?

Answer: Everyone. 

Many people would say Goldie is Port Chester. You don’t have to search far to find Goldie because she is everywhere, wearing her signature buttons at every board meeting, band competition, musical production or community event. Her legacy here is well known, and we celebrate her as a beautiful person. 

Originally from the Bronx, Goldie came to Port Chester just after WWII, where she served as a United States Cadet nurse. “I served at Mount Sinai Hospital in 12 hour shifts, caring for as many as 50 soldiers at a time. We nurses are veterans too! I’ve gone to Albany and Washington many times to fight for the benefits that cadet nurses have been denied for too long.”

Goldie’s nursing career stretches across decades. Many Port Chester students will fondly remember her as a nurse for the all the Port Chester elementary schools for 17 and a one half years. The Red Cross also had the benefit of Goldie’s nursing for 49 years but won’t call her anymore because at 90, “I’m too old. Well, I’m NOT too old! What are they trying to do, throw me out to the pasture?” You gotta love Goldie.

Aside from nursing and raising her children, Goldie also developed a great love for her adopted village’s rich history. She was President of the Port Chester Historical Society for 8 years. In partnership with the Port Chester Post office, Goldie was successful in creating 49 hand cancellation stamps commemorating local and American History. Other important volunteer roles include the Bicentennial chair for the Constitution, Head of the 4th of July Committee, Entertainment committee, Commemoration of WWII, and as a chaplain for the American Legion. If you frequented the Port Chester Library over the years, you probably noticed the display case that Goldie filled every month with historical memorabilia. “I love talking about history. We must honor our history. Very, very important. Ok?”

A major highlight in Goldie’s life was receiving the Martin Luther King Humanitarian Award from the NAACP. “We are all God’s children. We are all Americans! We may not all be citizens but we are all Americans. The Statue of Liberty says, give me your tired, your poor……..We are an immigrant society.” The Latino community in Port Chester adores Goldie Solomon, and enjoys her company at a many a music concert at St. Peter’s Church. She loves going to the Don Bosco Center every morning to talk to the immigrants. (Where this interview took place). In fact, we were interrupted many times by people coming over to our table, hugging Goldie, chatting, laughing and serenading her with Spanish songs. As we left the center, Goldie reminded a group of young men in Spanish about an event at St. Peters they should attend. One very tall teenager listening to his ipod looked down at the white haired 90 year and responded, “Word.” Like we said, everyone knows Goldie. 

Port Chester residents may best know Goldie for her years holding mayors and trustees accountable at every board meeting. “I speak for the people. Our taxes are too high! When Goldie waves her hands and speaks her convictions, the people at Don Bosco Center who are listening in clap and cheer. Another classic Goldie moment. 

The PCBC asked Goldie why she gives so much to her community, and she didn’t hesitate to answer. “When I give back, I feel great. I give back to God for the gift of life. When I wake up in the morning, I always say the same thing. Thank you for the gift of life. Guide me thru the day in your way, so I can help those that need help at all levels.” Who inspires Goldie Solomon? Again, the response was steadfast and heartfelt. “I’m inspired by our saviors. Our police, our fire dept, DPW, our EMTs and military. They put their lives on the line every day! They deserve to be honored!” We couldn’t agree more.

We can go on and on about Goldie, but we’ll stop here. After all, you all know her. Still, the next time you see her dressed in red, white and blue, waving an American flag, cheering on the High School Band, or holding someone’s feet to the fire, make sure you thank her. Better yet, you can do it on her Facebook page! “I <3 Goldie” Yes, Goldie has a Facebook page. And why not? We all know her……and love her.

Reprinted from Craft Memorial Funeral Home:

Obituary

Goldie Faye Solomon, 96, of Port Chester, New York passed away peacefully on March 26, 2023 after a long illness. Goldie was born on May 19, 1926 to the late Bella Leff and Meyer Rubenstien and they immigrated to this country from Romania in 1916. As a child, Goldie was always taught to salute the American Flag and sing the National Anthem with pride and to support the Country that she calls home. Goldie has lived her life following those words whole-heartedly until her death at 96.

Goldie grew up in the Bronx, NY and graduated from Walton High School in 1944 and Mount Sinai School of Nursing in 1947. She honorably served as a Cadet Nurse in World War II and was extremely proud of her service and the service of her fellow nurses in arms. After serving, she advocated for Veteran Status for all Cadet Nurses that served their Country in World War II. The New York Times wrote a front-page article about the Cadet Nurses of WWII including Goldie’s work in the November 11, 2000 issue of the paper.

Goldie moved to Port Chester in 1948 and raised her two children Bonnie (Lenny) Sorbara and Randy (Barbara) Solomon in the Port Chester School System. She continued to serve her community as a volunteer and a passionate supporter of Port Chester’s schools. Goldie was a nurse for years at United Hospital before becoming a beloved school nurse at Corpus Christi School and other schools within Port Chester. Goldie’s love of Port Chester, her fellow neighbors and its youth was truly a part of her “core being”.

Goldie was an honorary member of the Port Chester High School Band and an enthusiastic supporter of all the athletic teams. You would always see her dancing and clapping in the audience when the band played or cheering in the stands at all the home games. Being present for any Port Chester event brought her a joy and happiness that absolutely radiated from her; it was contagious. Goldie did not always watch on the sidelines with the audience, she also participated in numerous plays for the Council of the Arts and the Port Chester Recreational Group and she truly loved being a part of everything within her community.

Goldie was a proud Port Chester resident and never missed an opportunity to tell everyone she met. She was a well-known community figure who never shied away from an opportunity to celebrate her town or speak up for its constituents. Goldie was a renowned local historian celebrated for her patriotism as well as her love of Country and Community. She received numerous accolades from local officials, national officials and various organizations for her service, leadership and volunteer work. She was honored for her 43 years of service as a disaster nurse with the American Red Cross and numerous hours on the 911 Disaster Team.

She was so proud to receive the Port Chester Community Service Award, Rye Town Woman of the Year Award, the honor of being named Grand Marshall of the Columbus Day Parade, the Dr. Martin Luther King Humanitarian Award and the DAR Community Service Award. She served countless hours as a member of the Independence Day Committee, the Port Chester Historical Society, the Port Chester Yacht Club, the NAACP, the Don Bosco Center as well as the US Postal Service where she was responsible for 100’s of hand cancellations representing over 37 historical events. She was also a proud member of the American Legion Post 93 and ran for Mayor two times on her own ticket, the Common Sense Party. Goldie was a huge supporter of the Port Chester Police and Fire Departments.

Goldie was predeceased by her parents and her sister, Miriam Moriarity. Besides her children, she is survived by her Grandchildren Matt (Erika) Valentine, Holly (Bob) Slavin, Kerry (Nick) Zarnin, Brandi (Allie) Solomon, Ryan Solomon, Casey Sorbara and one Great Grandchild Vega Valentine. Her family, her community and all the people who were lucky enough to have known her will sorely miss Goldie.

At this time, the family would also like to thank the numerous people for their kindness and compassion in aiding and befriending Goldie in her elder years including Hope Vespia, Dom Neri, Fritz Falanka, Vita Sileo, Ruben Alzate, Nella & Lou Larizza, the Port Chester Police, Fire Department and Paramedics and Port Chester Mayor Luis Marino and the Port Chester Board of Trustees. In addition, we want to thank her wonderful aids, Joan Barnes, Beatrice Amponsah, Beverly Rhame and her Hospice Nurse Ann Brady who gave her exceptional care.

Visitation will be 4-8PM on Thursday March 30, 2023 at Craft Memorial Home, Inc. A  Mass of Christian Burial will be 10AM on Friday March 31, 2023 at Corpus Christi Church 136 South Regent St. Port Chester, NY. Interment is Private

In lieu of flowers, the family would like donations made to the Port Chester High School Band as it brought Goldie such pure joy and happiness all these years. Please send donations to 

Port Chester High School Band Association

PO Box 826

Port Chester, NY 10573

In Loving Memory of Ralph "King Ralphy" Iken

I don't know where to begin, which sometimes happens to journalists and writers. I've lost a dear friend and my emotions are overwhelming, which makes writing difficult. This isn't like when I wrote the first published obituary for Stormé DeLarvarie, someone I'd met once or twice but didn't know very well. It's much more difficult to write about someone who was close to you and whom you will miss a great deal.

Ralph Iken

APRIL 2, 1987 – JANUARY 30, 2023

a/k/a "King Ralphy"

Known simply as Ralphy to his friends, he was born in New York City's Brooklyn borough. According to multiple posts on Facebook, Ralphy was struck and killed by a car on the New Jersey Turnpike on January 30, 2023, bringing an abrupt and all-too-short end to the life of a fellow activist and dear friend. No further details are available as to the cause of death.

Ralphy was a staple of New York City's gay nightlife scene as well as a promoter, party host, rapper, DJ, publicist, and social networking and marketing professional. A protégé of sorts of the late DJ Peter Rauhofer, he both worked and lived with Rauhofer for many years until Rauhofer's death in 2013.

Why should you care that someone from NYC's gay nightlife scene has died? Because Ralphy was so much more than a mere icon in the club scene. He was a person of great depth, beloved by many. There are numerous posts on Facebook testifying about how he will be missed and how great a legend he was. It's important to know why he was such a beloved member of the LGBTQ community, why he became such a legend, and why he will be missed by so many.

Ralphy, like so many of us, was damaged goods. He'd been through a lot in the short span of 35 years he lived on this planet. He probably had more than his share of troubles, trials, and tribulations. Yet, he persevered. He survived an attempted sexual assault and became an advocate for those who suffered from sexual abuse, showing tremendous courage. His voice was strong and loud, yet full of compassion and love.

Sexual abuse and sexual assault survivors weren't the only causes Ralphy espoused. He spoke out often on mental health issues. #breakingcodesilence, which exposes and helps prevent institutional child abuse, was another cause that Ralphy was greatly involved in. He cared greatly for our youth and other vulnerable members of society. To know Ralphy was to see how much he cared for and loved others. He shared his own vulnerabilities to help support the causes he championed.

Ralphy gave so much of himself and asked nothing in return. Many LGBTQ artists owe their careers to him. The GaySocialites brand probably wouldn't exist without all the work he did for them. And Ralphy didn't just work his butt off for money, he did quite a bit for LGBTQ charities in NYC, as well. He did this without asking for anything in return--not even recognition (although he didn't mind being recognized for his efforts). In fact, he often approached nonprofit organizations and asked if he could do anything to help them. That's what he did when my fabulous friend Appolonia Cruz and I rescued Bronx Pride in 2013.

Ralphy's vulnerability made you just want to hug him--if he let you in. He exhibited kindness, compassion, and respect in all that he did, whether for profit, for charity, or for friendship. He cared about the people he worked with and for whom he advocated. He was about as real as you can get (some call it Brooklyn real).

What I will miss most about Ralphy is all the love he brought into this world. Rest In Peace, King Ralphy. You are missed.

King Ralphy with his mother, Hildy

Bronchitis vs. COVID-19 vs. URI vs. Colds

I'm sick. I've been sick since Wednesday evening. I think it's my annual bout of bronchitis. Or it could be COVID. But I doubt it. But with all the anxiety over COVID, IDK anymore.

I think all the anxiety they have given us over COVID has left us unable to determine when we have a simple cold or the flu, or something like bronchitis, or something worse--like COVID--or some other sort of infection. 

More likely than not this either is my annual bronchitis or a URI (upper respiratory infection). But I'm sick and miserable. Oh. I'm being redundant. But I'm sick so I'm allowed a bit of redundancy.

I'm certain I'm not the only one who feels this way. That is, that one little sniffle--or in my case, a single cough--sends off alarm bells and trips to CVS buying out every single possible home COVID test there is on the shelves. Because I've already had COVID-19. And not the trimmed-down Delta or Omicron variants but the OG one that first came out, when it first came out, when everybody was running around like chickens with their heads cut off because nobody knew what the hell they were doing.

And it was rough. Like, for reals rough. Like, stranded on an Antarctic island without a mobile or satellite signal kind of rough (and no cute penguins to keep ya company, only the menacing glare of that polar bear...). But I digress...

So I'm sick. And I'm watching the seconds go by as I wait for the appointed hour of my telehealth visit with my new PCP (primary care physician) who will tell me I don't have COVID-19. Because I know I don't. It's just my annual bout with bronchitis, right? But I'm still freaking out because what if it IS COVID-19. I mean, I'm vaxed and boosted and what are the chances I would catch it again? Seriously?

 Because this is what they have done to us. Any time we get a little sniffle. Or sneeze. Or cough. This is now the road we take ourselves down.

And I'm pretty certain that it's a road they built.

Connecticut Hospitals Must Do Better!

 

Bridgeport Hospital¹

I currently have a few family members and close friends who either have been hospitalized or visited the emergency departments (ED) of hospitals across the State of Connecticut due to suspected COVID-19 infections. The following are a few observations and opinions I'd like to share about these experiences:

I understand that Governor Lamont is not doing much of anything to help with the COVID-19 Omicron surge. However, the state of affairs at some of the hospitals in Connecticut is indefensible.

Keeping patients who have tested positive for COVID-19 in the ED waiting room because there isn't enough room in the ED, near other patients, is inexcusable. Not having basic medications in stock, such as to aid with breathing is impermissible. Sending patients home who are too weak to care for themselves must carry some sort of liability.

Arguing with patients over their preferred method of care is not supposed to happen. Telling family members that they will be called and then never calling them is unforgivable.

This isn't even an issue of insurance but of basic quality of care. And when you call to complain about it, the people who are supposed to be there to receive these calls are never there to answer the phones.

All of the above I would imagine goes against the Hippocratic Oath and combined could be construed as gross negligence. Hospitals cannot be allowed to get away with such a poor quality of care!

St. Francis Hospital, Hartford, CT¹

We deserve better care than this for ourselves and our loved ones! Such an inexcusably poor level of care cannot be blamed on a "surge" of infections during the pandemic. We've been dealing with the pandemic for over two years now. Hospitals, especially, and our government, should have had things under much better control than they currently are. My family members and friends do not deserve the treatment they have been given.

I can only imagine the poor level of care others are receiving who do not have such vocal advocates. To all of them, I send my deepest apologies that I cannot be there for you. This article will have to suffice.

¹ Image used with permission from Wikimedia Commons under a (CC BY-SA 4.0) license.

Personal Update: On turning 48

Today marks the completion of the 48th revolution of my corporeal existence on this ball of rock flooded with a substance we call water (chemical composition H2O) around a gaseous body whose core is a continuous fusion reaction primarily fueled by hydrogen and helium (i.e., our "sun," which we classify as a yellow star). In other words, it's my 48th birthday today.

And. I'm. Terrified. . . No. Make that petrified, immobilized by a foreboding sense of impending...change?

It's not that I haven't faced change before--I have, on numerous occasions and yet, I'm still here (despite more than a few attempts to the contrary but, I digress). NOTE: If you are having thoughts of not wanting to be here any longer, please--PLEASE--call someone and ask for help. Call your local mobile crisis hotline number, call 911, call your local Suicide Prevention Hotline.

Yet this time, something is different. I don't know if it's the times we're living in or the fact that I've completed four major zodiac laps around the sun. That is four groups of one full zodiac (take your pick, western or eastern zodiac, it's still four sets of 12).

I sense a great shift in the universe. And perhaps it's not so much that there's a change coming but rather that it's what's coming is going to be big. I mean really, really big. Ginorrrrrmous, even. 

Either that or I'm beginning to have one of those stereotypically male mid-life crises. Except, I don't have the means to change jobs and buy a fancy, new sports car or do any of the stereotypical things that go along with the stereotypically male mid-life crisis. I'm barely surviving here, y'know?

This brings me back to the deep, dark, foreboding, petrifying fear that something big is coming down the pipeline, and it scares the bejeezus out of me.

The past decade certainly hasn't been very kind to me. I've experienced traumatic losses. At the drop of a hat, I packed up and left everything behind in New York and moved to Connecticut. My mother's cancer returned for the fourth time so I moved in with her to take better care of her. A few years later that dastardly beast took her from me and I haven't even begun to process her loss a little over two years ago.

Since then, I've been homeless. And the homeless system is designed to keep people out of shelters and prevent individuals from utilizing what few resources there are. It's all designed to make it look like there isn't really a homelessness problem. Looks good on paper? Great! No problem here. Next! But I digress.

Perhaps it's not a mid-life crisis but rather the culmination of one? But that can't be, can it? Men well into their 50s have mid-life crises. So it must be something else.

Of course, men aren't the only ones who have mid-life crises. But I know very little of the mid-life crises that women have, other than "the change of life." And of course that it can, at times and in some instances, drive them completely doolally. 

It could just be my anxiety rearing its ugly head, the "not knowing what's coming down the road" bit. But I've been dealing with anxiety for nearly 30 years and I've done the breathing exercises. They're. Not. Working. In fact, if anything, they're making it worse.

I feel this shift in the Universe even stronger because I'm more in touch with the energies floating all around me. Oh sure, let's become mindful so we can get more in touch with how I"m connected to the Universe and the Big. Impending. Huge. Dramatic. Change. Like that's not dodgy at all! I'd best have Agathe Christie take a gander at it than try being any more mindful of meself. But once again, I digress.

It could be that since I've struggled so much with the past zodiac cycle, this next one is going to be glorious. But with my luck, I can't count on that. In fact, I've learned not to. But maybe that's the huge change that's coming, learning to think more positively? It couldn't be that simple though, could it? Expecting not to be disappointed? Not preparing for failure? 

That would be an extremely frightening new frontier. One I've yet to venture through. I'd have to learn how to navigate such waters from scratch. And charting the unknown can be truly treacherous times, indeed. No wonder the hairs on the back of my neck have been standing at attention.

I don't know if others who aren't in my age group are feeling this Universal shift. I haven't asked them--dare not lest they think I'm totally bonkers. And those who are in my age group? Well, I just assume, don't I? It comes with the territory, part of the aging process.

Speaking of aging, I need to speak with the person who sold me my aging kit. Mine's defective. I need a refund. Oh, the problems I've been having with mine lately, I could go on! I have more medical professionals in my life than friends these days!

So what's a poor gay boy to do (pa rum pa pum pum pum)? The only real choice I have is to wait, scared witless, for this Universal shift to take hold. Until then, I will continue to work on getting into my new home before the ticking clock runs out. And with your support, I just may make it in time.

(Please visit the GoFundMe Fundraiser I set up if you can help me get into my new home for the holidays. I need help coming up with the security deposit and the first month's rent. After that, the Section 8 housing choice voucher I received will help me pay the rent. Thanks so much!)

Personal Update: Summer Assistance Needed

Wow, so it's been a while since I've posted a personal update. Let me fill you in.

First of all, to all of you who have given to me in the past, a huge thank you and much gratitude for your generosity and assistance. I could not have gotten through these past few months without your support and kindness. 

I know that I've asked for assistance in the past. My GoFundMe page states I've raised some money but the vast majority of that money was from last year. As explained below, the shelter either "lost" or threw out my summer clothes (and denies all responsibility). As such, I have very little to wear for the coming months. Additionally, I have other needs as I lay out below.

Since the last time I've posted an update, I wound up back on the funny farm. That is, my depression sunk to a level that led me to "bad thoughts," i.e., I became despondent and suicidal.

Essentially, I went to City Hall in Hartford, CT seeking help with my housing situation (or lack thereof, as I've been homeless since my mother lost her fourth battle against breast cancer in September 2019). I also was feeling down due to having had my phone service suspended as I didn't have the money to keep paying the bill as I'd been thrown out of the homeless shelter I was staying in and essentially living on the streets, which meant having to go to restaurants to eat (living on the streets is pretty damned expensive, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!).

When I arrived at City Hall, there was no one there. And by no one, I mean literally no workers from the City except maintenance and security staff. I encountered other citizens from Hartford wandering about the hallowed halls of City Hall looking for assistance. Like myself, they were unable to find a single worker from the City of Hartford to assist them with their needs.

I finally came across a security guard who advised me to call 211 for assistance with housing issues. I told her that if I did that, all they would do is give me an appointment for 211 to ring me back, and I didn't have a telephone where they could reach me as my service had been temporarily disconnected due to late payment of my bill. The worker offered no other support or assistance, only repeating that I should ring 211 from the courtesy phone at the empty welcome desk. I walked all around City Hall, knocking on office doors and ringing bells in an attempt to find someone—anyone—who would be able to help me but to no avail. 

Mally Rosado, the Hartford City Council President, had stopped communicating with me, despite her promise to keep in touch. I was evicted from the homeless shelter I had been staying in for the past year after being thrown out on the streets and having all of my possessions—including the last of my dearly departed mother's mementos and keepsakes—purloined from me by a vile and vicious woman who also defrauded me out of most of my mother's insurance money by charging me rent for an apartment that didn't exist, and then tossing me out onto the street, keeping all of my possessions with her (the Hartford Police Department weren't interested in pursuing a case against her, one Rose Mary (aka Gypsy) Gordon formerly of 67 Sterling Street, Hartford, CT).

In any event, when I completed my tour of City Hall I realized that there was nobody who would be able to help me. I felt completely helpless and despondent and thought that perhaps if I killed myself at City Hall I might garner some attention there. I walked out of City Hall and down the street a few feet to a small park and sat on the wall to catch my breath, as both COVID-19 and pulmonary/cardiac issues are such that I can't walk more than a few hundred feet without getting completely winded. 

I sat down on the brick/concrete wall and realized that if I didn't dial 911 and ask to be taken to the Emergency Department to be admitted to hospital, that when I got up I would step in front of the next express bus that was speeding down the road. I began sobbing uncontrollably. I just felt so completely hopeless, that no one could help me with any of my problems, and that nobody cared about me. All I wanted to do was to step in front of the next speeding bus. Eventually, I managed to gather myself together enough to dial 911 through my sobs (obviously, as I'm sitting here writing this) and was admitted for a two-week inpatient stay at the Institute of Living, one of the nation's oldest mental health hospitals, where I received very rudimentary treatment for my suicidal thoughts and depression and was then discharged.

Since emerging from my last psychiatric hospitalization I have been hanging on by a thread. To get by I have been watching streaming content and playing games and using other apps on my smartphone to keep my mind distracted and away from "bad thoughts." Some of the apps I have been using cost money and require in-app purchases. Thus, I have been known to lose track of exactly how much money I've been spending with those in-app purchases. A $5, $8, or $10 purchase one day may not seem like much but when I forget that I've just made such a purchase the other day, it adds up fairly quickly and my bank account becomes overdrawn. Add to that the overdraft fees and one can begin to form a picture of how my finances can become a mess.

Currently, I receive around $1500 per month from my SSDI check. Out of that, I must pay about $200 for my prescription co-pays for the medication I need to survive. Another $225 goes to my Medicare insurance premiums, so about one-third of my income goes toward medical expenses every month. I'm now paying about $750 per month on bills, most of which are credit card payments. I'm only paying the minimum payment, which means I'm barely paying those bills down. I only have one credit card that's currently active--the rest have been closed by the banks. If I don't pay the other bills they immediately go into collections, which will further damage my already poor credit score, making it more difficult for me to eventually find housing.

That leaves me with around $300 per month for food and other expenses like travel to medical appointments. The good news is that I did manage to get approved for food stamps. The not-so-good news? I'm approved to receive a whopping $16 per month in SNAP benefits (fka food stamps), which is enough to purchase about one day's worth of food.

We're approaching the peak of summertime and I have a very difficult time breathing in the hot, humid air that we get here in Connecticut and the Northeast. I need an air conditioner to help me breathe (it's a need, not a luxury) but the cheapest models that will cool the room where I've been staying start at around $225 (that's for a 6,000 BTW unit). Plus, I'll have to give the friend I've been staying with some money (he said about $100 per month) to help with the increased electric bill.

If I purchase an A/C unit, I'm going to get a decent one, as I'd take it with me when I leave my friend's room where I've been staying ever since the shelter threw me out onto the streets (for being a few minutes late for their curfew, but we all know the real reason I was thrown out was that I began complaining about the living conditions there, e.g., 50 men sharing one toilet and one shower, etc.).

Speaking of that, before I went into the hospital, I was thrown out of the shelter and had been staying on the streets. When I came out of hospital, a good friend was kind enough to let me stay in a spare room that he has in his condo. I've been here ever since being thrown out of the shelter in November. It's about 1½ blocks from Hartford Hospital (and two blocks from the medical office building where some of my specialist doctors are located). So I can sometimes walk to a few of the specialist doctor's appointments that I'm now getting.

That's another thing, I'm beginning to take care of my physical health, as well. Those years of putting off taking care of myself to look after mum have taken a bit of a toll on me. I've developed some cardiac issues, and I also have been diagnosed with kidney disease. Contracting COVID-19 last year appears to have had some lasting effects on me as well, particularly with my respiratory and digestive functions. Plus there are the previous issues I've been dealing with for some time, morbid obesity, mental health (severe chronic depression & anxiety), respiratory, migraine, limited mobility, chronic pain, and a list of other issues as long as one's arm that I've been dealing with for nearly two decades since my automobile accident in 2002.

Add to my apparently declining physical health issues my housing issue that, as I'm not physically on the streets, I'm no longer considered homeless—can you imagine that? Even though I don't have a home of my own, I'm not homeless, simply because I'm not physically on the street. But like many homeless individuals who live in hotels, are couch surfing, or are staying with friends or relatives, I'm not considered homeless. Thus, I'm not eligible for any of the services that exist for homeless individuals or families.

Let me repeat. Because I'm not physically on the streets, even though I am homeless, I cannot get any sort of housing assistance for being homeless. The only way to get help for being homeless in Connecticut is to call 211 and go through their system. But when you call 211 and tell them that you're staying at a friend's, they don't consider you as being homeless. It's absolutely bonkers!

The worst part of this is that many agencies actually don't want this to change. They want things to remain the way they are because it would make things look bad. That's right. If we changed the definition of homelessness to reflect the actual reality, then it would make the government look bad. You know, sort of how the way the government deals with unemployment (the government doesn't count even remotely close to everyone unemployed in its statistics, to make it look like it's doing a much better job of—excuse the pun—managing the jobs in the nation than it actually is).

It's the same thing with homelessness. The government doesn't count anywhere close to the actual number of individuals, youth, and truly homeless families. If it did that, then some fear the actual number being reported might triple, according to homeless advocacy agency the Northeast Ohio Coalition for the Homeless. And of course, this also means that the government doesn't have to actually help anyone, or admit to needing to help anyone, which is another thing entirely. Because heaven forbid that the government admits there are people out there who are in actual need of assistance. But I digress...

There is some good news. I managed to get on the waiting list for disabled housing in a major city in Connecticut. Of course, I'm #1418 out of 1500 on that waiting list. And I just received notification that I have been accepted onto the waiting list for a Section 8 program of another city in Connecticut but they haven't given me a position. That waiting list has 4,000 people on it and they've said that as they have no funding, the only way for anyone to advance in the list is for someone currently holding a Section 8 certificate in the city to either die or move out of the State. But at least I've managed to get onto two housing waiting lists, this year, which is more progress than I made last year, right?

I need some summer clothes, as the shelter somehow managed to "lose" the few summer clothes I had purchased last year during the few weeks they were storing my belongings after I'd been thrown out. I now have only a handful of clothes, as everything else I'd owned was stolen by that woman. I've gone from having a month's worth of clothes down to a few day's worths. Some may consider that to be sufficient but considering the difficulty I have getting to laundry facilities, it isn't nearly enough for me to get by.

I also need some personal and household items. I have a wishlist on Amazon.com if you'd like to purchase some of them for me directly (shipping information is already contained when you purchase from this list). I need about $3,000 to get my phone service restored (due to fees they've charged for contract cancellations, I've already managed to pay the past due amounts).

I could also do with stocking up on some basic food items in the pantry, as well as some cooking utilities and gadgets and what-not. I'm beginning to flex my cooking muscles again. It's fun, for the most part. The cleaning up, well, not so much. But such is life, right? 😝

At the moment, my bank account balance stands at $-300 (that's negative three hundred dollars). So I'll need to overcome that before I'm able to purchase anything. If just 100 of my friends each donated $20, that should be enough to get me through the summer. Of course, if 1,000 of you each donated $10, I'd be able to pay off a few bills and get through the summer. If 10,000 people could each donate $10, I might even be able to purchase a condo for myself!

If you can help out with my GoFundMe, I'd greatly appreciate it and be ever so grateful. Even a $5 contribution helps a great deal, especially if you share this with your friends. And if you can't contribute now but will share my story, that's a huge help as well.

Thanks for taking the time to read my update. For now, I'm still hanging on by a thread. I'll continue to keep my mind occupied and away from "bad thoughts" as best I can. Now that the COVID-19 restrictions are easing up, I hope to find some new, real friends who will take me out and explore my new home region. And hopefully, I'll be able to find ways to increase and supplement my income.

Please help me out and donate now.

Thank you so much!

Cheers,
-Peter

P.S. If you'd like to help out and don't wish to use GoFundMe, here are some other ways you can provide assistance:

• I could use gift cards, especially to Amazon, BJ's Wholesale Club, Starbucks, Lyft, and CVS Pharmacy (use my email address)
• Support me on Patreon to help me continue my journalistic work and personal writing experiences on my blog
• You can send money to me via Zelle (bank-to-bank transfer using my email address), CashApp ($petercfrank), Venmo, or BitCoin (ask me for my Bitcoin wallet address, use my email address, or sign up for a Coinbase wallet and receive $10 worth of Bitcoin for free!)
• I have an Amazon Wish List that you can order items I need and send directly to me but bear in mind that I currently stay in a shelter and have no space to keep or store items beyond bare essentials.
• I love receiving gifts (who doesn't?), especially handmade items and baked goods (what can I say, I have such a sweet tooth!). Did somebody say chocolate? Please contact me directly for a mailing address.
• More importantly, I love being able to give gifts. So even though I may not be able to do so now, please share your Amazon Wish Lists with me, or just leave a comment and let me know what sort of things make you happy and brighten your day!
• If you're in or passing through the greater Hartford, CT area, I'd love to meet up with you for a cuppa (especially a Chai latte at SBUX) or some other tea house. Perhaps a short stroll through Elizabeth Park or West Farm Mall. Something to just get out, stretch my legs, mind, and be with positive people. If you can provide transportation, I can provide some great company and conversation. Contact me to arrange an adult play date. It would mean the world to me (and yes, of course, I'll wear a mask!).