I have the yearn to focus on this area of my life.  My husband seemed to rebel against it.  Our couple hood could not support my want of this habit. 

In this family, there was really no room, for any helping. 

His response for my expressed need in this area (I thought) was often irritatingly trite and demeaning. 

I was continually reminded, “Jodi, don’t you understand, charity, begins at home.”

The struggle was too much.  I didn’t have the energy for this continual fight. I had to pick and choose my battles.  I was worn and frayed dealing with my day to day issues with this man.  I had no energy to fight for any cause that existed outside of our home. 

This is, to you, my pathetic excuse. 

I figured out how to feed my charity addiction.  I lived vicariously though my sister.  At her home I could breathe her second hand smoke.  She dealt out all kinds of causes.  This is what made her so exciting and fun.  She lived in a junkie flop house full of characters, events and parties. 

The girls and I would often cop a spot. People rotated in and out.  There were ball players, exchange students, priests and nuns.  Foreigners frequented her house.  There was always a game of cards or spoons.  Her husband Dan became addicted to her drugs.  Jen was always coordinating, packaging and delivering something soothing to someone.  Dinners, drinks, snacks, and baby blankets were bundled and packed.  She did all of these things, worked on her MBA, took care of my niece and nephew, enrolled in classes at the Y and still was the source of my number one fix.

The girls and I became hooked.

I secretly took this habit to work.  I found I could hide my addiction from Mr. P. during work hours.  I knew it was only fair to disclose my addiction to my business partner.  We discussed the parameters of any use.  My partner agreed with the concept of a humanity fix.  It was O.K. that I took that bottle to work.  I found my enabler and my excuse.  I didn’t have to hide it under any desk.

I handed out pro bono divorces. 

That drug made me sick.   

(People who do not pay for a divorce have little motivation to try and settle their disputes). 


I tried the next best thing.  

Pro bono bankruptcies. 

I find that is a pretty good high.  

(I still do those now and again).

My need and want for the next best thing was increasing.  So I decided to try God’s Kitchen.  I also went down to the shelter on Division.  I worked Veteran’s park in the winter time.  I would find myself staring into the faces of older middle aged men.  I start to feel a little uncomfortable in sharing too much with them.  I wonder what violence or sex crime they could be capable of.

I cannot help but wonder what woman they have violated, hit or abused.

I don’t do any more for any homeless man–especially with the girls in tow.


But my vein has this need.  I fully understand the plight and dilemma of a young mother.  I know what it is to buried alive. 

Try digging out of that hole with a teaspoon.

See how long you can stand in that snow drift barefoot with no overcoat. 

It’s more enlightening than Econ 101. 


My friend Dave suggests that for me to truly understand the sweet it was necessary for me to taste that bitter. 

I am still trying to get bitter out of my mouth. 

I am really trying to work on my brokenheartedness, hate and frustration. 

 I am doing this the best way that I can.  I am really trying hard not to poison my girls. 

I am trying to open my eyes as well as my heart.

Amy tells me there are really nice guys out there.


Maybe that is why the cosmic strings have pulled me toward this new group of women.  They help young mothers.  They have sought me out.  I think I can be of some assistance.  I hope I can motivate that young stripper to consider other options.   I know it’s not going to be easy.  They basically all come uneducated, unemployed or working that minimum wage job.  I am finding they all have tatooed and pierced loser boyfriends.  They share their DNA with dead beat dads.  Most of their cars don’t run, there are never enough diapers and just not enough milk. 

There is the need for PPO paperwork,  paternity complaints, motions for DNA testing and requests for increased child support.

It’s starting to sound way too familiar.   My time in that law library can be of benefit.

I know I have turned my teaspoon into a shovel. 

Maybe I can help and motivate these girls to do the same.