Essential Estrogen

Last night, over 100 people converged on the campus of Coe College in Cedar Rapids to sleep in tents, cardboard boxes or other, less sturdy, make-shift shelters. The second annual sleep out event was the culmination of National Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week and sponsored by the Linn County Veteran Affairs and Community Circle of Care, Inc. All the proceeds -- over $4,000 as of Saturday -- benefit Linn County emergency shelters and programs.

By the time I arrived on the campus of Coe College, it was already close to 9 p.m. and most of the homeless village had already been constructed. Children, pets, college students and adults milled between large cardboard box houses. Most sat as single-person dwellings, but a few creative souls had constructed cardboard apartment complexes, complete with larger common areas for residents.

My home for the night was two boxes -- one opened completely with a second split and folded around the end of the first. The second box wasn't quite as big as the first so there was a gap at top that friends had already patched with tape before I arrived.

Boxes to my right belonged to two Sen. Chris Dodd presidential campaign staffers (Amy and Jonathan) and a Sen. Joe Biden presidential campaign staffer (Jennifer). Needless to say, the staffers' boxes had already been decorated with political signs -- a move that prompted a group behind them to pull out markers and stencil "Mitt Romney" on its shelters. Welcome to Iowa where even the simulated homeless are political.

On my left Linn County Democrat and veteran Joe Stutler, who plans to caucus for Dodd, had set up a tent for himself and his dog, Jazz. Another local Democrat, Dave Langston, who plans to caucus for Sen. Barack Obama, made his home somewhere in the village -- although I never pinpointed exactly where. Also in the village there lived at least one church youth group, a troop of Boy Scouts, two or three families and various people of all ages. Unsure of the exact etiquette for "door knocking," I was hesitant to seek out others who told me they would be participating.

For me, the night is easily separated into two distinct categories: together and alone.

Together time lasted -- at least for our group -- from before I arrived until roughly 1 a.m. People joked, gathered for door prize drawings, shared snacks, played games and, of course, set up the village. The mainstays of non-homeless life -- iPods, cellular phones, pillows, sleeping bags, Game Boys, PSPs and cameras -- were evident throughout the village. Although this was all for a good cause, we were just pretending.

Being together was easy and much like any other group camping experience. Some, no doubt in an effort to just get the night over with as quickly as possible, crawled into their boxes early. Others who stayed up late and laughed with friends were subject to faceless demands for peace and quiet. In the early morning hours, a cold and sharp wind circled amid the boxes and even the most adamant of night-owls was ready crawl into his or her respective box and bed down for the night.

While my body's immediate need was for warmth, my head had a difficult time not thinking about security. I crawled into my box and sleeping bag just as I was -- hat, gloves, coat, shoes. I really wanted to take my shoes off, but the thought of needing to get up and run and the fact that the shoes, although uncomfortable, were another layer of warmth kept them on my feet.

The little things were the first I noticed. What was I supposed to do with my eyeglasses? Although I began lying down on my back, glasses still atop my face, it soon became clear that if I wanted warmth, I was going to have to curl up. The glasses were taken off and a prayer was said for their safety as I placed them in one corner of the box.

Not wanting to leave my handbag -- keeper of the camera, voice recorder and phone -- in the car, I also had to decide where it should go. I began the night with it safely tucked away beside me in the sleeping bag, but I soon discovered it was put to better use elsewhere.

Although the gap at the top of my box had been taped to keep the wind and cold out, I had neglected to give the shelter a complete inspection. On the make-shift end, at the bottom, there was another gap. It was only an inch or so high, but, for all practical purposes, the entire end of the box could have been open. The wind, which now shook the box and rained brittle leaves, whipped into my box and turned my already cold, gloved hands to ice.

I moved further down into the sleeping bag and attempted to stop the wind with the excess fabric. I then used my water bottle on another section of the gap and considered taking off my hat to use on the rest when I remembered my handbag. I pulled it out and pushed it against another piece of the gap, but there were still several holes that allowed the wind access.

You wouldn't think that lying there in the middle of downtown, surrounded by friends, that you'd feel vulnerable. Yet, I was keenly aware that I rested only a few short steps away from the sidewalk and one of the busiest roads in town. Every unusual pop and crack had my eyes springing open to search for shadows through the tape at the top of the box.

I began to imagine what it must feel like to actually be homeless -- to be doing this without hope of a warm house, breakfast or heated car seats the next morning. Two pairs of socks. Two pair of gloves. Knit hat. Tights, running pants, sweat pants. Long-sleeved t-shirt, turtleneck, sweatshirt. How carefully I had planned while still within the warmth and safety of my own home. Where would I have dressed... where would I have found these clothes... if this had been more than a game for awareness?

Before last night I was convinced that I was too old to be taught more about being thankful. But as I stared through the dark at the cardboard and silently thanked God my children were safe and warm in their beds at home, just like the Grinch in Who-ville, my heart grew three sizes.