Down in the Valley...  From where I live on a hill above Mission Valley, I went down to do my biannual check of graffiti under the I-163 bridge that crosses the San Diego River. There are always some new provocative expressions of pain and resentment and occasionally hope... words and pictures, mostly cartoons.

Hundreds of homeless people live in thickets along both sides of the river.  Today I had a conversation with a lady who lives in a tent near the bridge.  She told me that “the highway authorities” take away tents and belongings of people who pitch their tents under the bridge. She said they don't bother the tents that are not under the bridge.

When Audrey saw me wandering around taking pictures of fresh graffiti, she came over and asked if I was with the Police Department. She appeared clean.  She wasn’t dressed sloppily. Her hair was pulled back neatly. Except that she didn't have teeth, she wouldn't have seemed out of place in the upscale shopping center on the other side of the bridge.  She was friendly without  being forward.   When I told her I’m interested in the graffiti... that I found it interesting.  She said some of the people who do the painting are rude.  She asked me what I do for a living.  I told her that I’m retired... a retired teacher.  

She said, “I guess I’m retired, too.”  I asked what she had done before she retired.  She said she had been mostly a housewife.  I didn’t ask for details... why she was living in a tent. I didn’t know what else to say, so I asked if she would mind if I took her picture.  She said she didn’t mind.  I thanked her for talking with me.  

As I turned to go, I said,  "I hope things work out well for you."  

She said, “They will," and she added, “I still believe God is good”... then she said, “God bless you.”  

I felt undeservedly blessed as I walked back through the passage under the bridge.... it’s long and quite dark even in mid-afternoon.  I felt like crying.