Am I my brother’s — and my sister’s — keeper?

It’s late afternoon on another cold rainy day. Water is streaming off the car as I unload the groceries. The warmth envelops me as I head for the kitchen. My wife has soft music playing. What shall we plan for supper tonight? We start our preparations, occasionally glancing out the window to see the trees sway in the wind as the downpour continues.

My Brother has had a long, wet walk from the food bank to the place on the road shoulder where he clambers up a muddy slope to the camp in the woods. The bags he carries are soaked now, as is some of the food inside. He lifts the edge of the blue tarp, ducks underneath, wrestles with the damp zipper on the tent, trying not to spill food from the bags. His companions are there, huddled under the blankets on the pile of cardboard that serves as some insulation from the cold ground. What’s for supper? There’s fresh bread, several kinds of fruit, snack bars. Fortunately the food bank had a selection of “no cook” items. There’s no fuel for the camp stove.

We watch the news while we enjoy supper. The new stir-fry recipe is excellent. Kitchen cleanup is quick, getting things in the dishwasher, stashing leftovers in the fridge. We settle in to watch some TV.

My Sister is beating herself up. She missed getting to the food bank in time. She got distracted, talking to friends downtown, and the time got away. As she enters the old motor home parked along Deschutes Parkway, she tries to shake off her worries along with the rain from her jacket. Time to put on a brave face for the kids. Cash is short, but if the engine starts, she can drive up to McDonalds, get the kids Happy Meals, plus something for herself from the dollar menu. Then maybe take them for a walk inside the mall. It’s warm and bright there, but stressful. There’s so many shops with so much for sale, though the kids know not to ask.

My wife is kidding me again. Do I know what happened in the movie? I dozed off; the recliner is so comfortable. Time to call it a day. I turn to the weather forecast. More rain on the way; it’s winter in Puget Sound country. Now we’ll read in bed for a while. Don’t forget to plug the cellphones into the charger.

Another Brother and Sister are trying to settle in for the night at the Mitigation Site near downtown. They’ve visited the portable toilets before returning to the tent. There’s a practiced ritual to entering the tent, shaking off as much rain from clothes as possible, sitting down with feet outside the flap to take off shoes, being careful where to stow the damp outerwear. But there’s a limit to what even the best efforts can do; the interior is damp and cold. There’s another problem. The people in the tent next door are arguing again; all the details come right through the fabric walls. The conversation is not loud enough to be called a serious disturbance. But it is disturbing. The hateful words used, the anger in the voices, it goes on and on.

I wake in the middle of the night, pad to the bathroom. But when I return to my warm bed, sleep won’t come. I can’t get the question out of my mind: Why, in this rich country, can we not find a way to bring our Brothers and Sisters in from this cold rain?