Meg Smith, Writer

The Annual Homeless Person's Memorial Vigil takes place the evening of the Winter Solstice, the longest and darkest night of the year.  For someone living rough, every night is dark, and long.  I learned of the vigil this past week, while still somewhat new at my job as editor at Worcester Magazine. As sometimes happens for journalists arriving at a new coverage beat, I was "today years old" when, scrolling through Facebook posts, I saw alerts for the vigil. So, I made the trek from my home in Lowell to Worcester to cover it.   Community journalism can't be remoted in. I'm unfamiliar with writing about homelessness, both in cities and the suburbs. Each time, something comes more sharply into focus: there is not so great a line of demarcation between the housed and unhoused.  There are those who move back and forth across that line, for reasons as complex any human life is likely to be. Far from being passive recipients of help, they also advocate, and help eac...

If you spend any time on Facebook, chance are, some of that time is spent perusing memories.  If we shared it on Facebook that same day last year or years ago, Facebook will call to mind what we were doing, who we spent time with, and in what outfit. And if we posted pictures of food, we get a pointed reminder of how many calories we ingested. As a journalist, my Facebook memories include community events I have covered. Recently, Facebook reminded me of  Dec. 1, 2013, when I covered a Hannukah carnival, sponsored by a local Chabad.  I posted a photo of some cookies from the occasion, and recalled that the rabbi offered to pray for me and my husband, the writer, Lawrence Carradini, who was seriously ill.  The rabbi, Larry and I could not know that this holiday season was Larry's last -- although intuitively, I think we all understood it. I'm a believer in letting people know when their kindness has touched me, so, when I saw this memory, I sent the rabbi and his wi...