Headley, a massage therapist who lives in a “no-bedroom apartment” and is just on the edge of earning a middle class income, injures herself while on the job. After worker’s compensation, reasonable accommodation, and a retraining program, she ends up in a welfare office.
I volunteered weekly in a church’s soup kitchen, serving meals to adults who slept in their cars or in the woods. That night, I scraped plate after plate of expensive seafood into black garbage bags.
According to CNN, one out of every six senior citizens in America is food insecure, which means they either cannot afford food or have difficulty accessing food (or both).
My dissertation—defended in April and deposited just the other week—is about food access and farmers’ markets.
Soup kitchens: they’re not just for churches anymore.
“Being on public assistance for the first time in my life only taught me that i really never want to be on public assistance again.”
What is Gwyneth Paltrow planning to make with this assortment of food, and how is she going to make it last for a whole week?
Now you can get checked out and helped out by a mental health professional who has a focus on your finances and your feelings.
What is this impulse to slap a smiley-face at the end of a story when a period will suffice?