Rain on the roof

Here I am freezing in my little house.  I am wearing layers of clothes, three pairs of socks and have my trusty blankie over my knees. I am also trying to entice the little old poodle to sit on me to act as a sort of hot water bottle.  I cannot afford to have my heater on all day so I choose to suffer a little in the morning in the knowledge I can put the radiator on about four o'clock.

While all this seems a little sad, you know, poor old woman, pensioner and not much money, spare a thought for the homeless.  If I am cold tucked up in my house how cold are they?  How do they keep warm?  The answer is of course they don't.  Some homeless people are lucky enough to get a bed for the night at a refuge but for others it is a very very cold night.  Where exactly do they sleep? The terrible thing is that I do not know where they sleep or whether they had some kind of bedding.  If they do have a blanket or some kind of covering where do they keep it in the day time?

I once said to a friend how I loved hearing the rain on the roof.  She gently pointed out to me that while I enjoyed the sound of rain I was not out in it.  I wonder again how do the homeless stay dry and warm? Now when I start to enjoy the sound of the rain I do spare a thought to the street people; rarely.   Do I actually do anything for them, no I don't.  I feel virtuous giving money to St.Vincent de Paul for their blanket appeal but I don't really put my money where my mouth is.  Luckily, there are people who offer practical help; Fred's Van for instance.  A cup of hot soup means everything to these street dwellers. The gift of a blanket is a gift beyond price.

When I was very much younger than I am now, my Mum was the recipient of two lovely grey woollen blankets from a charity.  They replaced several threadbare old blankets that you could actually see through. I still had one of blankets when I got married.  I used to wrap it around me under the bedclothes.  My husband hated it but it was my security.  At some stage I dispensed with it but I remember how much it meant to both me and my Mum at the time.

Why is it then I that I rarely think of people less fortunate than me?  Perhaps it is because I was once one of the less fortunate.  In reality, that should make me more thoughtful, kinder and generous.  I should in fact, do something practical for these people but at the moment when I am about to switch on the heater I find I only pay lip service to the poor and to those who fall between the cracks of the welfare system.

So next time you enjoy the sound of rain on the tin roof and enjoy your central heating, spare a thought and perhaps a donation to the poor, the mentally ill and all the less fortunate people on the streets in Adelaide.