After a very underwhelming scallops basket lunch from Aristacrab Seafood Restaurant (not the best start to my goal of gorging myself on seafood after the disappointing trip to San Juan Island) and a visit to Willamette Heritage Center, where we learned about the history of fabric making in the region, we made our way south from Salem (best described as podunk) to our final destination of the day, the home of the University of Oregon Ducks, Eugene.
It finally came to me while on the long stretch of I-5 between Salem and Eugene. I knew what it was that I wanted from this trip. To get away from the familiar. No more billboards taking potshots at the most recent Presidential election. No more freeway signs advertising yet another national fast food chain. No more dingy itinerants panhandling at off-ramps or pushing precariously burdened shopping carts.
There are certain expectations of a college town like Eugene: late night watering holes, ethnic restaurants, boutique art galleries, colorful wall murals. What was unexpected was a state-sanctioned vagrancy community (complete with port-a-potties) under the freeway overpass a stones throw from our motel.
My feelings on the homeless problem vacillate. On some occasions (less often it seems these days), compassion for my fellow human being reigns. I understand first-hand how our life choices and circumstances can sometimes lead us down a divergent path. At other times, my humanity is blurred by my anger. This is America, not a developing third-world country. There are resources available for help; it was a matter of accepting that assistance. The exasperation also extends to the government, who seem to be only shuffling the homeless around, namely out of the city centers and into the suburbs. A futile game of whack-a-mole.
I think this frustration is underpinned by the fact that we no longer own a condo but a house. The Ring Home alarm notifications that I once thought a bit excessive (porch pirates, car break-ins, gunshots) have taken on more gravity. I jokingly commented to a co-worker that I was glad our neighborhood was a mile and half away from the main thoroughfare and therefore highly unattractive for anyone considering building a makeshift home. Lately though, some homeless are trying to prove me wrong.
For some unexplicable reason, thoughts of the Holocaust had slowly seeped into my mind.
