One foot in the Thanksgiving soup line

LOLITA HARPER

It was not the place I necessarily wanted to be on Thanksgiving Day.

At work and in the middle of a soup kitchen, where the

down-trodden would come for a cafeteria-style dinner before going

back to their motel, shelter or “campsite,” for lack of a better

term.

I stood in the corner for a long time, just watching the scene --

the volunteers working the soup line, the long rows of tables seating

various people of all ages and ethnicities.

Then, Someone Cares Soup Kitchen manager Shannon Santos introduced

me to Lourine Clemons, who flashed me one of the biggest smiles I had

ever seen and invited me to sit down next to her.

Clemons has been homeless since August, when she was forced to

leave a condemned apartment she had been renting in Norwalk. She has

been trying to find a place ever since, she said, but with the

competitive rental climate in Southern California, it has been tough.

“I have the money for the rent, you know,” she said, “but they

want three times as much when you first move in. I don’t have that.”

Wow. Being somebody who had not long ago been shopping around for

a bigger place, I knew exactly what she was talking about. I nodded

and continued to listen.

She had found a place in Fullerton that she was accepted for. Now

she is working with an organization to come up with the security

deposit.

“I need this place,” she said. “I need to get my girls back in

school.”

Clemons paused and glanced down at her food. She and her daughters

have enjoyed meals at the soup kitchen nearly everyday since they

were evacuated from their apartment and moved into an undisclosed

Costa Mesa shelter.

She lifted her head and smiled.

“I am praying,” she said. “God willing.”

God willing. God willing. The words continue to ring through my

head, even while writing this. For many people who live paycheck to

paycheck, it is as simple as a little event -- one thing can go

wrong, such as a condemned apartment building, a pink slip from an

employer or a serious accident or illness, and the soup kitchen

becomes a necessity and not an outlet for charitable giving.

And there I was with new clothes on my back and a big, warm house

to go to for Thanksgiving dinner. I immediately felt the meaning of

Thanksgiving. I realized how lucky I was to be born to a loving

mother, to make a decent living, to have an education, a roof over my

head and healthy and happy son ... . The list is never-ending.

All my complaining about not having this or not being able to buy

that was so ... so petty. I felt guilty and humbled.

I left Lourine to enjoy dinner with her family and put on an

apron. The least I could do was help out in the kitchen. I was

stationed with former Newport Beach Mayor Evelyn Hart, whose eyes

were brimming with that high you get from knowing you are doing a

good thing; from pushing yourself outside of your comfort zone and

getting closer to people you thought you would never speak with.

It was the best thing I did that day, despite the wonderful time I

had with my own family later that evening.

And I hope I do run into Clemons again -- if not at the soup

kitchen, then perhaps on another assignment, when she is back on her

feet and serving as an instrumental figure in her company’s success.

God willing.

* LOLITA HARPER writes columns Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

She may be reached at (949) 574-4275 or by e-mail at

lolita.harper@latimes.com.