The facade of Chez Bon.

This is a column of thanksgiving. I know it may seem as though I focus a great deal on brand name products in this space, but I do so because I want to help those homeless and/or economically challenged—whether temporarily or chronically—to find those bargains, items, people and organizations whose purposes are to ease the burdens for those of us existing within (or forced to live within) the margins.

Freedom is such a cavalier thing. The will to come and go, to sleep under a fan in one’s bedroom on a hot summer evening, events unthinkable during the past 19 months.

Nineteen months of homelessness, and the end of such duty hanging in the balance. It is well on toward midnight here at Chez Bon, and after ordeals amidst shelters, transitional housing and hospital stay after hospital stay after hospital stay, I find that I belong at Chez Bon.

I knew that Pacific Hospital’s Behavioral Health Unit—South Campus would come to the rescue, for my favorite charge nurse, tall, handsome Filipino Jhon A.—with the height, coloring, and quiet, worried compassion of the man I hope to marry—told me that if I “got out there and got into trouble, to come back to our ER and say suicidal and we’ll make sure you come to South Campus.”

Jhon was not there two Thursdays ago when another night of homelessness sent me reeling down the path of PTSD and depression. Yet Ms. Felicia of South Campus, social worker extraordinaire, got it 100% right. For Chez Bon is beautiful, a sanctuary, in many ways, for those who have lived lives tortured by the habitual imbalance—to life, spirit, and psyche—of mental illness.

Let us begin with the building.

The edifice must have been a motel or motor inn in a previous life, for there are living and dining areas as well as full baths and two very large bedrooms per unit, but no formal kitchens or even kitchen sinks. There is a huge kitchen and laundry area below my second-floor unit, yet it is the genius of the building’s construction within which lies the magic of Chez Bon.

It is a long, rectangular building, majestic in its height, and so formally rectangular that, reminiscent of geometry class, there is a huge open space in the middle. The very wise owners extended a section of the roofing on the north side of the rectangle thus ensuring shade and a cool breeze all times of the day and night.

It was blissfully cool when I returned from overspending at the Salvation Army (Alamitos and Anaheim; 40% off storewide on Saturdays–whooohooo!!!!), and were it not for the flies who also enjoy the shade and cool breezes, 7PM last night would have been idyllic. I stayed downstairs, “chilling” on an incredibly sturdy and most likely very expensive dark cherry wood picnic table, one of many placed plentifully and strategically at the center of the interior of the rectangle.

The exterior of this internal rectangle is sprinkled, upstairs and downstairs, with equally sturdy wood benches with iron hand rests, always a surprise when they do not give and collapse under the pressure of my short, botley, and solidly compact 349 pounds.

This afternoon and evening have thus been an exercise in shopping adventures and laxity as one recovers from toting home the grand Salvation Army haul. I was aided in this endeavor by unofficial delivery driver “Lou,” who complained only mildly about the unexpected traffic on Cherry as we tried our best to approach the 7-11 on 7th St., due to a combination of cars waiting to make left turns and some sort of construction delay on 7th. He seemed quite happy though, with the gift of one of my ice-cold Arrowhead litre bottles of water, 2 for $2 for the moment.

As Lou and I neared my new home, the bliss that is Chez Bon, I thought of all I could heat up and keep cold in my new mini-fridge and Emerson microwave.

The 24-hour access to a huge Home Depot water cooler meant my nurse practitioner—the inimitable Ms. Dora Magana of the Children’s Clinic—would no longer have to worry about me imbibing the prescribed two litres of water each day.

Any time of the morning or the evening I could sashay downstairs and fill my water bottle, one litre at a time. Juice is available in a separate Home Depot behemoth at mealtimes, and lasts typically one to two hours past when we’ve eaten.

The meals at Chez Bon are to die for. Las Señoras de la Cocina (y la negra bella with the striking features) don’t like it much when you arrive after the meal hour (8AM to 9AM; 12PM to 1PM and 5PM to 6PM), but there is a fifteen minute grace period after every meal. This morning I slept through breakfast, an unpardonable sin given my usual late arrival (and attendant fussing by las señoras!), yet the gorgeous and complex Ms. Rosa, who seems to be in charge, came to the door, fussing, and brought another resident the juice she requested. Then she disappeared, and I could hear the rapid Spanish flying all over the now closed kitchen. Nevertheless, not 20 minutes later (much closer to 15!), there was Ms. Rosa, looking every bit the long-suffering, put-upon Latina mother, with freshly fried eggs, two slices of perfectly toasted bread, and a cup of pineapple juice.

Ms. Teo cleans with a quiet, respectful invisibility that of course makes me notice her. Ms. Yolanda is the brave one who marches into the back dining room, cloth in hand, gentle smile in place, to clean up the male resident who has thrown up his dinner. When I comment “¡Ella es fuerte!” upon her return to the kitchen, she says nothing and looks away, confirming my suspicion that arrogance and conceit are sins within the Latino community as well (unless you are male).

UPDATE: It is Ms. Iris who, thankfully, pipes up on the third day of this article’s appearance to comment: “¡Mi nombre no está en su libro!” and thus completes for me an objective I had put off far too long: gathering the names of Las Señoras de la Cocina. They are discounted, overlooked, demanded of, but rarely if ever thanked or given accolades for their tireless cooking, cleaning, and laundry doing on behalf of me and my fellow residents. Thus I proudly name them all here: Ms. Rosa, Ms. Teo, Ms. Yolanda, Ms. Nellie, Ms. Iris, and Ms. Juana, she of the special kindness to the sole Black Latina of the kitchen, Ms. Cecilia.

It is these many kindnesses that make me love them. That, and how they put a little extra on my plate because they can see that I am large and require just a little bit more than my portion, or when portions are spare and I ask politely (I am always polite to Las Señoras!), I may get that one extra waffle, but only one because they are afraid there will not be enough for everyone.

And then there is the staff. Junior, who has consoled me twice when events involving other residents have severely frightened or angered me and my PTSD has risen to the fore. Junior works graveyard and during the last crisis, he was practically asleep on his feet because he had come in early. Yet he counseled me anyway, and wisely too, at almost two in the morning, and gave a competent report on what had occurred to the Administrator, Mr. Elli.

Marty is my favorite. Something about that twinkle in her eyes says, “I believe fun is important, and absolutely essential to life.” Her aura says bikers and bars, but her eyes say Glenda the Good Witch. In her other life, Marty is a She-Warrior of Amazonian extraction, charged with chasing away any and all hobgoblins hiding under the bed or in the closets of faithful, unfairly terrified children.

Stephanie is the quintessential medication nurse. She is charged with keeping all of our meds straight, deals with the pharmacy and the doctors, and doesn’t ever make a mistake when it comes to dispensing. Her air of confidence and control simply would not permit it. 🙂 She is crisp professionalism at all times, but she cares; she does it all with a strong sensitivity that lets you know she cares.

Mr. Anthony is quiet, tall, thin, and not given to much conversation, yet there is a gentleness about his spirit that is immediately soothing. In a crowd you would not notice him right away, but once your eyes found him you would note that he was not the kind of young man who gloried in pulling the wings from flies or cutting the tails off cats. He is quiet, and he is comforting, and he will do something secret and important one day.

I do not know the name, I now realize, of the hot Latina who works in the office. We fell out initially, but she showed true character by not treating me differently after the reprimand. As someone raised within an abusive home, I was 100% swept away by her lack of retribution. That is character par excellance and made me bond with her, in spirit only, right away.

She doesn’t know it, but if she ever needs anything, I am so there.

Mr. Osman, our maintenance and landscape person, is Johnny-on-the-spot if anything falls, breaks, or ceases to function. He brought all of my too-heavy-to-carry-on-the-bus belongings from the Liberty and never once complained about having to bring them to the second floor. He also did not charge me and requested no tip!

The second Mr. Anthony is basketball-court tall and skinny as a rail. I do not see him often, but today he sat down and asked me with real interest how I was settling in.

Now Mr. Elli is a category unto himself. He was my first impression of Chez Bon. He shows up at Pacific Hospital’s South Campus looking about 16, cute as a button I’m sure his Yenta used to say, wearing a yamulke. I took one look and thought that whatever Ms. Felicia says about this place has to be true.

Mr. Elli runs Chez Bon with an iron glove. If he needs to be gentle, understanding, and yielding, he is. If he needs to be firm and impress upon you the rules, he will. If he needs to negotiate or aid in negotiations, he does.

If a problem springs up, he is exactly like the exceptional staff with whom he has surrounded himself—a hungry tiger in the veldt. Problems at Chez Bon do not fester, grow, or multiply. Their heads are cut off the moment they peek up from the depths, like a periscope on a woolly mammoth. Dead the minute they take their first breath.

No resident is more important than any other, and all resident concerns are important. This proactiveness and quick resiliency has only built my confidence in and comfort with this place.

The rooms are large too and when they say “double room” at Chez Bon, they don’t mean a single room in which two people are squeezed into a space meant for one. Nope, they actually mean a double room with two twin beds, two dressers, and a double closet. You can breathe, and so can your roommate, in one of their double rooms.

Thus, after almost two weeks here, I now know that permanent recovery is my future. My turn for official enrollment as a HIP client came up two Fridays ago, a process at the end of which will qualify me for housing vouchers decreasing my expenditure for shelter to one-third of my income. A relief after the (thank you, Jesus!!!) onset of disability payments last month.

Such allow me, PTSD, chronic pain, diabetes (I know, I know—it’s what I eat, but let me begin the coping with deprivation discussions with my psychiatrist first please. Many days the only meal I had was the wonderful, always steaming-hot and delectably seasoned plate with seconds and dessert at the Long Beach Rescue Mission), osteoarthritis, high cholesterol, hypertension, and sleep apnea to do what I love: write for the POST about the people, places and things that make homelessness—and recovery from it—possible in the halcyon environment that is Long Beach, California.

Until again, why? Because joy is our birthright, homeless or no.

Love and blessings,

Dr. Ni

MONDAY SPECIAL: Don’t forget the Monday-only Albertson’s Chicken Dinner Special; for only $7.99, you get: 8 pieces grilled or fried or a whole Rotisserie chicken; 1 lb. potato salad, macaroni salad, or coleslaw; 1 lb. potato wedges; 4 King Hawaiian dinner rolls and a 2-liter Coca-Cola product (and yep, Diet Dr. Pepper is a Coke product for those of you out there wondering). Don’t miss out!!!