My Life in Argentina and Beyond

Thursday, February 4, 2010: Things, as far as my experience goes, don't always happen for a reason. they just happen. I have slept on the strett, on the steps of a church, I have been rejected by my own family of origin and I have had a hard time finding a job. Does homelesness happen for a reason? Did getting screwed in GA happen for a good reason? Am I a better or happier person because of that experience? What about the money that I lost and that I cannot get back? Is that also a good thing? I am sorry if I sound bitter. for now that's the way it is with me. Eugenia Renskoff

I hate to sound like a broken record, but these things happen (more than obviously) because of the celibacy Rule. the ridiculous Celibacy Rule. Hiding sex (or trying to) under the carpet DOES NOT WORK. Maybe theChurch will get that in my lifetime. Maybe not, but it will eventually HAVE TO. Eugenia Renskoff

Friday: Soup kitchen line at 5:45 P.M:

I was the fourth woman on the Ladies First line. A grey-haired pony tailed lady was in front of me. We had been chatting about finding warm places to hide in during the day. Sometimes, when you are somewhere, they come up to you and ask: What are you doing Madam? I’ve seen that, I answered, shaking my head. They don’t want you there.

A well-dressed man wearing a dark overcoat approached the pony-tailed lady. What is this place? He looked at the long line of men, then at us women. It’s a church. A soup kitchen. The man was holding something in his hand. Here, he said. The woman touched the bill. Thank you. The man nodded and walked away.

The girl in front of the woman turned around: What did he give you? A flyer? No, the lady said. He gave me money. How much? Curiosity tempted me. How much? I asked. The woman showed me the bill. $20, I told her. Congratulations. The woman looked up at the sky. It’s been a while since I got anything. I needed this. God sent it to me.

I have been here before and I hate it. I have been here where scrambling for a place to be—any place—is it. I am now moving piecemeal, a little bit at a time. There is not much time left till late February. It hurts so much that I could not sleep last night. I looked at Lauchita and I wondered where we’ll be next month. My heart is breaking but I don’t want to show it. Yes, I have been here before and it’s always been Hell.

Monday, January 25, 2010: It is said that the drug problem in Argentina is bigger than it was before and that they mug you for very little money. One has to be very careful and even that does not often help.

Friday, January 15, 2010: Years ago, my Tia used to say that the wages that people earned stayed the same, but the prices went up. Now, in the United States, it is similar. Too familiar as far as I'm concerned.

Manhattan Subway Scene:

Around 3 P.M. at the 33rd Street subway stop.

As I got off the train, I noticed a young woman crouching by the swipe machine. She lay down her head on the end part long and grey machine, near the turnstile. There were two cops standing near her—a man and a woman. The woman cop approached the woman and asked her what was wrong. The tone of her voice was not nice or kind. It was on the sharp side. The woman told her she couldn’t see very well. You have to go; the woman cop said and opened the big emergency door for her. There are seats for you to sit on. The woman cop looked at the male cop and made a face. Now on the other side, the young woman, still crouching, took out a water bottle from her bag. Someone pushing a baby carriage asked her ifManhattan Subway Scene: Around 3 P.M. at the 33rd Street subway stop. As I got off the train, I noticed a young woman crouching by the swipe machine. She lay down her head on the end part long and grey machine, near the turnstile. There were two cops standing near her—a man and a woman. The woman cop approached the woman and asked her what was wrong. The tone of her voice was not nice or kind. It was on the sharp side. The woman told her she couldn’t see very well. You have to go; the woman cop said and opened the big emergency door for her. There are seats for you to sit on. The woman cop looked at the male cop and made a face. Now on the other side, the young woman, still crouching, took out a water bottle from her bag. Someone pushing a baby carriage asked her if she needed help. The young woman smiled and talked with her. The other person helped her up. I watched until I felt she was ok and that she wasn’t alone. When I walked up the stairs to go to the street, they were still talking. I feel I should have told the woman cop to be kinder. It wouldn’t have hurt her any. she needed help. The young woman smiled and talked with her. The other person helped her up. I watched until I felt she was ok and that she wasn’t alone. When I walked up the stairs to go to the street, they were still talking. I feel I should have told the woman cop to be kinder. It wouldn’t have hurt her any

Argentina’s political crisis has not been getting too much attention in the American papers. Other countries have problems that are arguably more media oriented. Presidenta Kirchner fired the President of the Central Bank because he would not release funs (billions of dollars) that she wanted him to release. The President of the Central Bank has been reinstated and the political crisis in the country has gotten worse. The Presidenta is not as well liked as she once was.

Saturday, January 9, 2010: She looked at the apt. buildings 2 or 3 blocks away. The lights were on in all of them. It must be warm inside, she thought, waiting for the street light to change. She crossed the street. I wonder who lives there, she asked herself. They have a home, she told herself as the wind blew hard on her face.

Rubio ate his last meal on Monday, January 8th, 2007. He loved meat, so I made him baked meat with potatoes.



I couldn’t sleep that night. And I had to keep the radio on for some sort of company, some sort of solace. Every 20 minutes or so, I would get out of bed to check on his knees. They had started bleeding and I changed the bandages around them.

I know that if it hadn’t been for the radio and the calm voice of the announcer, I would have begun to scream. I didn’t want him to die. I had begged him to get well, to be as strong as he had been, but it just couldn’t be. Rubio had grown tired of fighting his illness. Outwardly, he was a beautiful 12 year-old German shepherd. He had grown tired of trying different types of medicine, only to find out that none of them really worked for long. The relief they provided was temporary—too temporary for what ailed him.