Rehabilitate Tuk's Trailer to Livable Conditions

Hi, my name is Jasper and I set up this Gofundme on behalf of my stepdad, David, who in turn has been donating his own time, energy, and money to the cause of helping out a local friend of his who is in dire need of help.

I think David said it best, so for anyone who hasn't already read his description of the situation already (in his newsletter for his yoga classes) I have copied it below. It's quite long, so I have put some of the more important parts in bold text for those who would like to skim the text. I'm sure there's some parts that should be bolded that I missed, but so it goes.

It is as follows:

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Please note: Some of the descriptions that follow may not be very pleasant to read. If you are interested in helping me contend with the situation I describe below, I am open to donations for a new stove, rug, heat pump, plumbing repair, or help hauling things. If you know of someone who is buying new items and would like to donate their old but working electric stove, or even an ok-condition large rug, let me know. Right now, I am working at clearing things out, cleaning things up, and creating enough room to be able to move about in this person’s home. I spent six hours in the home described below, just yesterday, in what is the beginning of a major process. My friend, whose unfortunate circumstances are described in detail below, is a Vietnam Vet, ex-professional, lover of animals, dedicated progressive, and storyteller. He also suffers from chronic fatigue and a heart condition, and probably some level of depression. Hoarding has combined with debility to create a dangerous situation.

Cleanliness. That is an age-old recommended practice that is considered foundational to a Yogic lifestyle. That said, there are stories of realized Beings, Adepts, who have so transcended the normal constraints and guidelines of civilization that they no longer need even cleanliness, as we know it, to remain vibrantly alive to their pure Essence, their Atman. These “crazy mystics,” as they are sometimes called, live in ways that we cannot fathom, perhaps in caves in deep seclusion, or in simple shacks well off the beaten track. I think of Asia and India when I write this. Could they be here amongst us? Most of us, including me, can easily feel revulsion in the face of someone living in any kind of squalor. Most all reading these words live in great privilege, supremely comfortable. We might even be willing to say we have become extremely comfortable with our comforts, perhaps even addicted to them.

Caroline and I do not live in a spotless, dust-free environment. Our tables sometimes become very cluttered. My desk often is just that, a mess. Regularly, however, we clean, organize, and take joy in newly discovered cleanliness and organization. My workshop areas (an outdoor and indoor) move from chaos to organized chaos many times a year, depending on the scope and intensity of the current building project, renovation, deconstruction and so on. With a dog and two cats, I love our vacuum cleaners!

I spent most of yesterday at a friend’s home. I consider this man a friend, as I have been delivering to him various herbal supplements, vitamins, crackers, the odd beverage, and other small items on my way home from the Blue Hill Coop, for about 15 years. A small man who smokes a pipe, he is what you would call agoraphobic. He is also politically aware, and passionate about certain things. At times a little cantankerous, he is generally warm and caring. He is dedicated to feeding the birds and squirrels. In the Spring, he likes to let the grass grow long around his trailer before getting it mowed, so he can enjoy the great splashes of wildflower beauty. He loves his Progressive Populist weekly newspaper and cares for himself with all manner of herbs and supplements, about which he sometimes surprises me with his knowledge.

My friend only leaves his ramshackle trailer if he is in need of emergency medical support. He owns no car, has no family, and few friends. He moves slowly, and is prone to tachardia. I learned yesterday that he also has no hot water, and has not for many months now. The cold water he does have runs very weakly. His stove does not function, so he has propped a two-burner camp stove on his broken electric range. In the midst of colossal squalor is his couch, one so broken that its center has collapsed fully to the floor. This is where he sleeps.

The largish front room, the only I have seen so far, is what I can only call a nightmare of chaos, with one path so narrow through it that I found myself constantly knocking precariously balanced bottles and small boxes piled upon small boxes onto the floor. The floor has not been vacuumed in decades. By the door, I found a sea of sunflower seed husks spreading out in all directions. A small, old suitcase blocked most of even the narrow path that wended its way to the refrigerator and kitchen. An unopened box with some sort of exercise machine was placed within three feet of the front door, further blocking passage.

Almost in the center of this vast assemblage of stuff burns, all winter, a fire in a kerosene stove. This old contraption is perched on something that elevates it to a height some 4 feet off the floor. A fan in the kitchen window blows all winter, pulling some of the toxic byproducts of combustion out the window. Adding to all of this, are the rats. It was maybe five years ago that a rat leapt over my feet when I was standing just inside the door. Not long after, my friend told me the rats were all gone, somehow, and I heard no complaints about them again, until, that is, a few days ago. Now they are frequent visitors. He sets two traps,and when he catches one, he puts it out "for the raven." My friend does not want to have exterminators come, as he is worried that the poisoned rats will then poison other animals who will eat them. He is a man who loves animals, who once had a cat and once had a dog. He catches the mice he finds, and lets them live in an aquarium where he feeds them.

You can probably imagine what my friend’s refrigerator looks like. After a couple of hours, I made some progress, though many bottles were so bonded to the glass shelf that I feared I would shatter it as I wrestled them off its surface. Luckily, I did not. A metal putty knife and endless scraping brought victory to the top shelf. Many bottles, some dated 15 years ago, are gone. But I never got past the top shelf, though progress was made in the freezer!

I left in the dark, somewhat wracked with fatigue, but happy to have accomplished something substantial. My car was stuffed with bloated black garbage bags and boxes of newspapers, etc.(I used my powers of persuasion to succeed in convincing my friend to depart with a large pile of old phone books). Strangely, I have whet my appetite for more, and as I walked CeCe in this evening's twilight (Caroline away for a three-week artists residency), I thought of the kind people I know, people with trucks, big hearts, and good senses of humor. I would corral them for what I imagined as a makeover of my friend's home, I schemed. We'll see what progress I/we make! Meanwhile, let us all clean with devotion. All is one. Karma Yoga is a good path.

Namaste,

David/Damodar

And an update:

Dear Generous Souls/Students and friends,

I am sending you an update. Don't read if you are squeamish! This is a followup to last week's Reflections, if you did not read and want more background information.

Hugh Evans and I spent Saturday from 9 to 5 filling his construction trailer three times (equal to six large pickup trucks) with rat infested boxes and various detritus, clearing out the back two rooms of Tuk's trailer. As my friend Hugh said later that evening, "You could not pay anyone to do this work." I have never seen so much rat scat! I have, thankfully, rarely if ever seen rat scat!

I discovered a can of Campbell's soup that was still unopened, but rattled as its contents had dehydrated, to give an example of how long things had gone untended. Thank God for Shop Vacs!

The Surry Transfer station let us dump for free in their commercial bins, and I was thrilled to see that Hugh's construction trailer pneumatically lifts so that most of the load dumps out without our touching it again!

On Saturday, I went back on the way home, as Tuk became upset that we had left several ancient VCR players and television outside, as he collects them for possible future use. We were able to chuck a few other old electronics, our quick decisions made non-debatable by the amount of Rat scat on them. So I stopped by Tuk's again, after having a refreshing sauna at Hugh's and a fine dinner made by his partner, Sonia, to do some more work, and place the electronics back into the trailer.

I was back again yesterday evening, making forays into the front room, which is also beyond the beyond. I feel like I am caving and have gone so far that now there is no turning around and I am on a mental-physical-spiritual journey into and through the darkness. Tuk sits mostly in his chair in the middle of the sea of stuff. I talk with him about his life as I throw trash into a contractor's bag, sometimes discovering treasures he has not seen for more than a decade. He is quite the progressive and liberal minded person, and has many stories to tell.

I am continually amazed at the spark that he shows. He can be very feisty and we spar often. Sometimes I simply say No and move ahead because otherwise there would be no progress. There is so much furniture in every which way literally buried underneath boxes that have various sized boxes stacked over them, each box containing little trinkets from yesteryear that are usually absolute junk or junk mail or some other rag or empty vitamin bottle. I found a little box filled with broken glass that he said he was saving for a purpose I can't now even remember or make sense of.

I am excited that soon, I hope, God willing, I will clear the front room where he lives all the time and can then get going on a new heater. I believe a Monitor propane, thermostatically controlled heater would make most sense, as it will not fail when the power goes out. Right now, the open flame, unguarded Kerosene fire burns constantly, and he pours the kerosene into a jug, then fills the canister. Yesterday evening I saw kerosene all over the floor in his front room. He had forgotten to put the lid on a gallon container he had just filled. It is a very good thing the whole thing has not been kicked over. As it was there was a good deal of kerosene to mop up in the 2 by 2 foot space. Later, I succeeded in creating a six by 4 foot space.

I now have to work from the back forward, moving stuff into the cleared back room so that I can make progress forward. The mass needs to be chipped away, disposed of or moved out of the front room, box by box, piece of furniture by piece of furniture. Then we can vacuum. Eventually I will be putting peppermint oil and cayenne around the rooms, and cornmeal with baking soda under the trailer, which the rats eat and it bloats them into oblivion. Sad, true, and necessary!

The very cold weather is returning this weekend. And snow. This will thwart progress! Thus I am going to return to the scene today, taking time off from work, which I will need to make up this weekend. I feel that if I lose momentum I may become stalled for too long, and this dangerous situation could become tragic. He does fall and if he grabbed onto one of the precarious pieces of furniture stacked with stuff, Tuk could become buried unable to get up. This seems like a very real possibility to me.

That is enough! One of you has already offered to buy an electric range. Others have sent some monetary help. If one of you could foot the bill for the Monitor heater, that would be amazing. He also has no hot water heater or washing machine/dryer. His cold water runs only very weakly.

I can understand why no one has helped in a major way thus far. Any person could not have even gotten to these things without major excavation.

I said to Tuk last night, "I look forward to sitting with you in a clean and spacious room, sharing a drink, talking about old times."

Thank you dear Souls. I need to hold back tears as I write, because I am so moved by this entire undertaking and your support thus far. I think of "all the lonely people" and wonder about them, knowing Tuk is but one among so many. As one of you wrote to me, "He was someone's baby boy, once." And Tuk, although he has no children, could have been one of our fathers, I now think. Please hold me in your thoughts, as I continue to spelunk.

Namaste,

David