We arrived and went directly to the kitchen, where we met a 6’4” black guy with a larger than life personality and a commanding authority over the cooking duties. Like most social situations, he seemed to have been put in charge simply because he took the initiative and no one challenged him. I soon found out he’d also attended the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) and used to run a restaurant in a town next to my hometown. Small world. He made a quick witted remark about what he needed done and how we wouldn’t really be able to do it – and with that, we began helping in the preparation of the meal.

A minute later, I started to realize we weren’t the only people who’d thought volunteering at St. Elizabeth’s would be a good way to spend Thanksgiving – so I left the overstaffed kitchen and ventured out into the parking lot where a crowd of homeless was gathering. Apparently, Thanksgiving dinner at St. Elizabeth’s is a big deal.

I decided to take a walk down the block both to wake up and to see this area of Sante Fe – which like the rest of Sante Fe - adhered to the Adobe-style architectural guidelines. Turning the corner behind an abandoned auto parts store, I found myself about ten yards away from a Hispanic man and woman who were sitting on a tattered queen size mattress. The man, about 35, had a black eye and a bloodshot left eye. His scraggly brown hair was matted down by a stocking cap that was the same color of his canvas jacket and gloves. The woman, about the same age, had a wrinkly face and glazed over blue eyes. They both smelled of booze and had been laughing when I walked around the corner. They were houseless. (As I learned later, some homeless refer to themselves as ‘houseless’, not ‘homeless’.)

‘Are you waiting for Thanksgiving dinner?’

Surprised at the question, I was speechless. It had been directed at me and seemed to be genuine. On the surface, the question was obvious, but for me, the subtext was the most interesting. From what I could gather, this houseless man was asking me if I too were houseless, and therefore, waiting to eat at St. Elizabeth’s. Having never been close to houseless in my entire life, I tried to envision myself from his eyes – and his comment began to make sense. With a two month dirty beard, greasy bed-head, and a naturally ‘please feed me’ physique – I could have maybe been mistaken for houseless, (or even trendy depending on what fashion magazine you read). When I looked at my clothing - unwashed jeans and a very faded tie-dye shirt – I realized there was a legitimate chance he thought I was houseless. So I answered him ambiguously.

‘Yes’.

‘Well then come join us…..It’s Thanksgiving!’ He motioned to an uninhabited portion of the mattress - I followed his lead. We entered into a friendly conversation from the moment I was seated. We rambled on about family, the mercurial life on the street, the inefficiencies of the welfare system and the potency of Steel Reserve. As ‘two to three a day beer drinkers’, both Robert and his girlfriend Donna preferred the high alcohol content of Steel Reserve that would help maintain a buzz. I told them they should try the highly potent Hurricane, which Adam has developed a taste for out on the road. It’s sort of like beer on steroids.

I think we were both enjoying each other’s company, so when I told them a little about TYAP, Robert responded by saying, ‘You should film us, the houseless need documentaries to be made too. And when my neighbor Robert Jones gets back, you should interview him – he’s got stories.’

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