Arupa Freeman died December 23, 2019. Led by her husband Bob, we kept the H.O.M.E Van food pantry going at their house until his sudden death May 31, 2020. Without Arupa or Bob or their house, which was H.O.M.E. Van Central, the few remaining volunteers – Marie, Reggie, Pat, Liz, Shmal – were unable to continue the work. Bob told me that Arupa had asked that I be her “literary executor.” This page will hold her writings – essays and poetry – about the people and work she loved. She didn’t just write about homeless – she wrote about nature and fun and people and her childhood – everything under the sun. I had thought to finish the page in a year or so, but too many other projects came along, including a new outreach van, run by Grace Marketplace, where I get to volunteer most weeks. So now I will add Arupa’s writings here bit by bit, as I am able. (Unless otherwise noted, all writings by Arupa)

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Christmas in Prunewhip, Vermont

Prunewhip, Vermont winters in the 1950s looked
exactly like all the corny TV Christmas movies and
Hallmark cards you’ve ever seen. Some years we
would have an ice storm and every tree, down to
the smallest twig, would be coated with ice that
sparkled and shimmered in the obscure December
sun. Every garbage pail was covered with snow
and wore a white Santa cap. Each run down house
was blanketed in snow and had a magical fringe of
icicles around its roof. All mundane or shabby
realities were transformed into fairy tale sculptures
of ice and snow.

In mid-December school let out for two weeks and
kids played outside from dawn to dusk. Some days
there would be neighborhood snowball fights, one
side of the street against the other side. The
combatants met in a vacant lot where each army
had erected a fort of packed snow and stockpiled
snowballs behind it. When the cap gun sounded,
everyone started firing.

After the first freeze the fire department flooded a
sunken meadow and thatwas our skating rink. The
best game there was called Crack the Whip. All
the kids held hands, in order of height, and skated
in a circle, faster and faster and faster until the
tall kid at the top of the line shouted “All drop
hands!” If you were the shortest kid, you knew
you might land in a snow bank in the next county
and have to walk home, but that was the thrill of it.

Everyone looked forward to Christmas caroling
with their Brownie Scout troop or Sunday School
class. Not only did you get hot chocolate and
homemade cookies at every stop, but you also got
to see your school teachers in their living rooms
looking like real human beings.
Another big event was the annual School Christmas
pageant. There was no separation of Church and
State in Vermont at this time. We had a fair number
of Jewish kids, whose parents taught at the local college,
and they schemed and struggled right alongside their Christian
pals to try to get a role that involved wearing
a costume, as opposed to having to sit on the bleachers in
civilian clothes and sing “OLittle Town of Bethlehem”
along with the talentless herd of ordinary kids.

Few of us aspired to being cast as Mary or Joseph.
That would be like expecting the lead role in a Broadway play.
We all knew Joseph would be a star basketball player and
Mary would be the most slender, delicate, socially well-placed,
and beautiful brunette in school (blondes were automatically
banned from playing Mary). You could hope to be a
shepherd. a wise man or an angel. I had blonde curls,
so that made me a frontrunner in the Angel competition.
One year I actually got to float out on stage and say, “Fear not:
for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy,
which shall be to all people….”

Merry Christmas from Bob and Arupa, and blessed be the
moments of beauty and joy, for they will be with us forever.

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SEASONAL POEM

Peace, may we have peace

             Republicans, Democrats,

Black, white, Chinese,

Vegans, locivores,

folks selling barbecue

From backs of trucks on country roads.

May we have compassion,

For doctors and dentists and hookers,

And chief financial officers,

For gated communities and homeless shelters,

For law enforcement officers, for thieves,

For all who breathe the free air around us,

For all who feel the sun and rain on their weary backs.

May there be candles,

Menorah candles,

Kwanza candles,

Christmas candles,

Candles adding their soft light

To the gentle beams of the Solstice moon.

May there be light,

May there be peace,

May we love one another.