Showing posts with label Cambie Street. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cambie Street. Show all posts
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He's trying to tug on your heart strings -- is it working?[/caption]
Above we have "Mr. Invisible." He's panhandling in his own fashion Tuesday morning in front of the McDonalds on West Broadway, near Granville Street. Last we saw him, he was about two kilometres east on Broadway in front of the Michaels Arts & Crafts store; he was cocooned in a sleeping bag with the word "invisible" written on a slip of paper pinned to the bag. He was panhandling then also.
His technique apparently works -- Tuesday morning I watched his inert form suddenly come to life and pop up like a slice of toast when a woman offered him a twenty-dollar bill. 'Tis the Season to be a panhandler!
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Brian is hard to take when he's awake -- I can only imaging how hard it is to be him.[/caption]
Here's Brian (or alternately Richard) sleeping at his "campsite" in the alcove of the former location of SportChek on the west side of the Crossroads complex on Broadway Avenue near Cambie Street. When he's not sleeping he's mostly ranting uncontrollably at the people passing by his spot.
Not only does he fit the stereotype of a homeless person, he could be a "poster child" for street disorder. I see him also as a challenge of our compassion and tolerance, not to mention forbearance. I personally don't like his habits one bit, but that shouldn't stop me from helping him -- should it?
Brian is -- forgive me for saying it -- barking mad. He is also filthy, in both his demeanor and habits -- and you don't want to know what's in those paper cups. He's as truly pathetic as the city's panhandlers all pretend to be. Aside from being elderly, mentally ill, and an alcoholic, he's badly crippled, having lost all his toes to frostbite some years ago.
He's the kind of homeless person who needs help the most, just as he's one of the most difficult to help. There's no way he can be kept inside -- he says he's claustrophobic -- except against his will. He what people used to call incorrigible -- not able to be changed or reformed -- so he's given disability money and left to his own devices.
If there's a better solution than just giving him whatever degree of help he'll accept and leaving him be -- gritting our teeth and turning a blind eye, and a deaf ear, then either no one's thought of it yet, or it's too expensive.
My friend Florida Pete, who sometimes camps and drinks with Brian, tells me he helped clean up the campsite some days ago, and it shows. Pete also told me he gave Brian a belt and made him promise to use it to hold up his pants. Thanks Pete! Click the images to enlarge them.
He's trying to tug on your heart strings -- is it working?[/caption]Above we have "Mr. Invisible." He's panhandling in his own fashion Tuesday morning in front of the McDonalds on West Broadway, near Granville Street. Last we saw him, he was about two kilometres east on Broadway in front of the Michaels Arts & Crafts store; he was cocooned in a sleeping bag with the word "invisible" written on a slip of paper pinned to the bag. He was panhandling then also.
His technique apparently works -- Tuesday morning I watched his inert form suddenly come to life and pop up like a slice of toast when a woman offered him a twenty-dollar bill. 'Tis the Season to be a panhandler!
A bit obscene but at least not heard
[caption id="attachment_8248" align="alignnone" width="497"]
Brian is hard to take when he's awake -- I can only imaging how hard it is to be him.[/caption]Here's Brian (or alternately Richard) sleeping at his "campsite" in the alcove of the former location of SportChek on the west side of the Crossroads complex on Broadway Avenue near Cambie Street. When he's not sleeping he's mostly ranting uncontrollably at the people passing by his spot.
Not only does he fit the stereotype of a homeless person, he could be a "poster child" for street disorder. I see him also as a challenge of our compassion and tolerance, not to mention forbearance. I personally don't like his habits one bit, but that shouldn't stop me from helping him -- should it?
Brian is -- forgive me for saying it -- barking mad. He is also filthy, in both his demeanor and habits -- and you don't want to know what's in those paper cups. He's as truly pathetic as the city's panhandlers all pretend to be. Aside from being elderly, mentally ill, and an alcoholic, he's badly crippled, having lost all his toes to frostbite some years ago.
He's the kind of homeless person who needs help the most, just as he's one of the most difficult to help. There's no way he can be kept inside -- he says he's claustrophobic -- except against his will. He what people used to call incorrigible -- not able to be changed or reformed -- so he's given disability money and left to his own devices.
If there's a better solution than just giving him whatever degree of help he'll accept and leaving him be -- gritting our teeth and turning a blind eye, and a deaf ear, then either no one's thought of it yet, or it's too expensive.
My friend Florida Pete, who sometimes camps and drinks with Brian, tells me he helped clean up the campsite some days ago, and it shows. Pete also told me he gave Brian a belt and made him promise to use it to hold up his pants. Thanks Pete! Click the images to enlarge them.
This grand old apartment building is on the east side of Cambie Street at 13th Avenue. I'm guessing The Cumberland apartment building dates back to the 1920s. I wonder how many coats of paint it's had. This latest one, completed a few months ago is nice; kind of a mustard and dark rye vibe. The lettering of the name is original gold leaf wonderfulness. Click the images to enlarge them.
This was yesterday, in the late afternoon, at 10th Avenue, and Cambie Street. A city road crew has just wrapped up work on the East corner. I'm about five minutes, and three blocks away from running into another city road crew, making my total for the day five. The view North is pretty spectacular (yawn). Vancouver's a bit like a 24-hour casino, with nature as a complimentary floor show to bring in the
Apropos of the headline, Cambie Street is named for Henry John Cambie (1836-1928), an Irish-born Canadian surveyor, and civil engineer, best remembered for his important role with the CPR (Canadian Pacific Railroad) in bringing the country's transcontinental railroad to completion at it's Vancouver terminus. There are no train tracks near Cambie St. that I've ever seen. Arbutus Street, which is about three kilometres West, and closely paralleled by train tracks, is named after a tree.
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Someone out there is sweet as a peach, and doesn't care who doesn't know it![/caption]
Could've been having a really bad day. Finding a thoughtful freebie on the lid of a garbage bin would've lifted my spirits.
I had a good day yesterday, though the person who left the container of fresh peach yogurt -- complete with spoon, on top of a grey bin, just off Cambie, had no way of knowing that. They'd never know -- and they knew that when they left the stuff on the bin. It was an instance of giving without expectation. The spoon was a nice touch, It made me smile. I had a good day and the tasty yogurt made it that much better. Thanks. Click image to enlarge.
Someone out there is sweet as a peach, and doesn't care who doesn't know it![/caption]Could've been having a really bad day. Finding a thoughtful freebie on the lid of a garbage bin would've lifted my spirits.
I had a good day yesterday, though the person who left the container of fresh peach yogurt -- complete with spoon, on top of a grey bin, just off Cambie, had no way of knowing that. They'd never know -- and they knew that when they left the stuff on the bin. It was an instance of giving without expectation. The spoon was a nice touch, It made me smile. I had a good day and the tasty yogurt made it that much better. Thanks. Click image to enlarge.
Is it there for a tune up and some engine work, ahead of Spring planting of Corn along the Cambie corridor? I do no know, but this classic beauty of a tractor is sitting in the parking lot of a body shop on Cambie Street. An acquaintance, looking over my shoulder blurted, "isn't that the tractor that sits in front of that restaurant?" I don't know that either, I just know that I like it. Click pictures to enlarge.
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