Too Real. :-(

Well, today's exercise in giving got a little too real. See, I finally caught up with an ages-long friend today, who'd been trying to reach me since Friday to say "hi." When I actually reached him today, I heard some dour news: he was about to be homeless.

He'd lost his job a while back, and moved home to Boston for a while with family; went to school in the hopes of getting into something new.

Instead, he's been struggling to find work but, like so many, found none.

And Matt and I have just spent our next several paychecks' wiggle room on fixing his car.

I tried to give him a pep talk; he might try to temp through Labor Ready, which is rough stuff, and I told him about the friends I met on a temp job - the most horrible job I have ever held - and how they not only got me through that job, which threatened to break me (did break me, really), but helped me build myself up until I landed the job I wanted. I said you never know where you'll meet the next person to help you.

He said the people he'll work on these jobs with will be as poor as him; but I told him, you would be surprised what someone you think has nothing can give. And someone who has nothing, or has been in a place where they have had nothing, well they're motivated to help you because they know what it is to have nothing.

Tonight, I'm wide awake, and worrying. I wear my heart on the outside, and tonight it's in Portland, OR, where I've got the power to do approximately nothing.

I sent a little money, so he can have something. It's not nearly what I'd like to be able to do. But at least, it's something.

Boy Scouts!

So today is Friday. Child-free Friday. So after leaving my kids for a weekend at their dad's, I stopped at the beverage center for a frosty, malty, hoppy beverage. Mmmmm. (Don't ever get the idea, from the topic of the blog, that I'm any kind of ascetic.) I was comtemplating yesterday's kitten-based donation, and hoping there was something different next to the register, when I pulled in to see a table full of Boy Scouts outside the door! What luck!

The Boy Scouts bring out mixed emotions in me. Has something to do with some controversy they had... what wsa it?... OH YEAH.

See, I hate that kind of thing. It makes me angry.

But... that's not the fault of the boys in the organization, is it? And like almost everyone else, I'm a sucker for kids.

So anti-gay policy or no, when I see a table full of Boy Scouts, I buy some popcorn if I can. Today though, it happened that I only had the requisite $2 in cash. So I was going to just make a donation. Which I mentioned, and said because I only have $2 on me.

And boy, those scouts are eager little salesmen. See, they were selling individual bags of popcorn, $1 a package. I could take Light Butter, or Unbelievable Butter. Or, as one enterprising little chap offered, one of each. (He could see I was indecisive.)

So of course I bought the popcorn. And then I remembered, that means the fundraising itself came to less than $2! Scandal! That's Rule #2 broken!

But then I remembered, it was unintentional. So I'm Rule #3ing it.

Now I'm home, waiting for my man to get back from dropping off his daughter. Then we'll cook some burgers. Because burgers + beer = win. And later, we'll have popcorn. Because popcorn + beer = BIG DAMN WIN.

Oh noes! They've FOUND me!!!

So I just relearned something I knew in my youth: if you give a major charity some money and an address, suddenly all the charities find you. It's like magic, in a way. *facepalm*

But, OK. Right now that's a good thing. I sure won't run out of ideas, right?

So the other day I got some unsolicited mail from the Sierra Club. What do they do? Uh... something. With the environment. They do something with the environment! Something good. Plus they sent me a picture of their founder with his buddy, Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt, for God's sake!

So yesterday I joined the Sierra Club. I don't know what this means, but they're sending me magazines, I gather so I can sort that part out. Plus they gave me a map of the 'States, which includes basic topographical information. I'm pretty keen on that. I'm hanging it up for the girls as soon as I can decide on the best location (read: spot where it's least likely to be destroyed in ten minutes).

Then today, I put a couple bills in another container by a register. I think it was the Humane Society. It had a kitten on it, anyway.

I guess some parts of this experiment are less about targeted giving to particular places, and more about stumbling around and exploring. Maybe I'll never read the Sierra Club mags; maybe I'll just let my membership fizzle next year. But it's just as possible there will be some article that will catch my attention, and before I know it I'll get sucked into one of their online communities... Perhaps I'll find some great trail that I'd never heard of because someone shared it there. Maybe I'll find some new cause from their activist network.

You never know. The sky's the limit.

WOW have I fallen behind!

Ah well. You know - Rule #3.

Incidentally, not falling behind on the project - although I did forget on at least three occasions - but definitely the blog.

Most of the time, I've dropped a couple bucks into the Ronald McDonald bin while getting a snack with the kids, or into a cup next to a register that collects for veteran-related charities or the like. But I do have a few favorite stories from other days.

There was one day when I discovered that my garden had gone berserk. I had planted one small partial row of green beans that had lost control of themselves in their enthusiasm. I would go out to pick them and literally find that I had a grocery bag full of the things. There was no way we could eat them all, and I didn't have time to freeze them. So, to the Mission I went!

But you know, this time wasn't nearly as interesting. Though their phone recording says you can bring in donations 24/7, in point of fact there's a sign on location that gives more specific hours, and I was well outside of them. It looked for a moment like they might not take them! But in the end, they did.

One Friday night, we went to the Lord's Acre at a local church. It may be that they only take away a portion of what I spend there, but since I bought two chicken dinners, a heap of garage sale stuff, cupcakes at the bake sale (and zucchini pineapple bread, which BTW, YUM), and a heap of books, I'm guessing they made at least the requisite $2 from me.

And lordy, did we have fun! I found four Alison Weir books, some James Michener for my mom, and who knows what else? I got a heap of gold brocade for a project to be determined in the future. Matt found my daughter her long-awaited husband. The potato salad and chicken was awesome, and there's nothing I like better than eating in the community hall at a church, just nothing. And, it was home to some of the funniest karaoke I've ever heard. Sure, there were some good singers, but it was the deliberately-bad who went out of their way to play it up for humor value that stole my heart.

I'm sure more will come to me. Like the day we donated the girls' roller skates and some extra clothes to a church thrift store, and bought a bread machine there, too. My daughter started reminiscing about the bread I used to bake before I had to give up the bread machine in the divorce, and we wound up making cinnamon raisin bread that very night.

Or the fundraising walk I went on for the AFSP. I'd thought it was an awareness-raiser, not a fund-raiser, so I didn't get much money together. Actually, I raised $13. From Matt. And we didn't make the whole three miles. But we went! We raised some! I saw a woman I know from the farmer's market! Emma and I got buttons from the Trevor Project! Which I'd never heard of before Daniel Radcliffe's support, but it's such a good idea! (The buttons, BTW, mark you as an approachable person who will not judge. That's their purpose. How brilliant is that?) And along the way, I learned an awful lot about how not to do a long walk with small children. We learn more when we're challenged than when we're successful, right?

So it may be that, at this point, I won't remember all the details of the two weeks since my last update. (Can you believe all of that happened in two weeks? Me either!) But I can tell you that it has changed my life for the better, definitely. My daughter has gotten fresh bread and a comfy pillow and the experience of going on a fundraising walk with her mother, and we're forming memories together that she'll never lose.

And I know, because I have memories like this with my mom that I'll never, never forget.

Except – the Baby Girl.

I knew there was something I was missing.

So, Thursday. I have the baby outfit in its little bag and my other donations loaded in the car with my kids and I’m headed into the city when I realize that I forgot to look up where the Mission is. I start to tell myself that I can drop it off another time – why the hurry? – but then I realize that this is what I’ve always done. “Oh, I’ll do it later” – and then I never do.

So I tell myself, I will bring my kids to their dad’s. And I will ask him if he knows where it is. And if he can tell me how to get to the Mission, I’ll do it tonight.

And you know, he did, and he gave me general directions. I parked and saw the Mission’s thrift store, but not the actual Mission. I asked someone walking along if he knew where it was, and he offered to walk me there. Actually, he seemed a little alarmed, as if by walking me there he was keeping me safe, which I found funny but sweet. I’m not a babe in the woods – I lived in this city for seven years – but maybe in my bright A- line skirt with a hot pink gift bag swinging in my hands, I looked it.

He offered to bring the donations in for me, and when I hesitated he said he understood, he’s not trusting either. I stumbled all over myself trying to explain about the present for the little girl – it didn’t have a note on it or anything, and I had to send it with an explanation.

I thought about it later, and I wished I’d been able to tell him the whole story – that for me, it’s not about the donation making its way to the person I got it for. That’s ideal, obviously, but the point is that someone knows they’re cared for, and important. Whether that means that a little girl gets a cute outfit, or a man that lives in the Mission knows that someone trusts him to bring in her donations, the final destination of the thing itself is almost moot.

At any rate, he finally managed to get me up to the front desk, to a man who brought me over to Sister _____. She works at the Family Life Center, and knows the little girl in question. I launched into my story for a third time only to be interrupted by Sister _____ correcting my pronunciation. This was one of my favorite moments; she doesn’t care that I came here with a donation in my hand, that baby girl deserves to have her name pronounced right just like anybody else, and Sister _____ will make sure of it personally if she’s got to.

So I explained myself, and gave her the bag, and it turns out her first birthday is really soon. Happy birthday to her! I shouted on my way down the sidewalk. I was shy and awkward and ready to make a break for it. And boy did I.

Underway!

The next day was a Sunday; the power was back on, and so was our shopping trip. I got the baby girl a warm little fleecy outfit, a size up to grow in, and a little gift bag for it to go in. I go by the Mission every Thursday, so I set it by the door for that night.

Monday, a little ad for the WSPCA popped up while I was checking my email. Click! Click! Donated.

Tuesday, I bought a few dollar-store items for the Mission off their wish list while I was out on another errand. I felt good! But I still felt as if I wasn’t really moving. I hadn’t actually done anything outside of my comfort zone yet, and I knew it.

Thursday, I bought a few more items while I was getting lunch stuff for work. I had run up against the clock Wednesday, and wound up not doing anything that day because I didn’t have time to get out anywhere and wanted to definitely dedicate that day’s work to the Mission. But you know, Rule #3.

On Friday, I spent the afternoon with my mom and daughter, and I made a donation at the museum we strolled through. (Well, I strolled. My daughter galloped, and my mother limped.)

On Saturday, I heard about an Irish festival that operates on donations alone. Is it feeding the hungry? Well, no… but I haven’t been to an Irish festival in many years because admission is so high. Click! Donation.

On Sunday, I went out to pick green beans in the garden and found out they’d gotten out of control! I filled a plastic grocery bag in the time it took to pick half the row – and it’s a short row. Why do they sell these seeds in full packets?!? Who can eat this many beans?!? Certainly not us. About half way through I had a bout of vertigo – allergies – and had to stop, but I resolved to bring what I had over to the Mission, and have myself another picking session between now and then; short of feeding a whole shelter full of people, I don’t see them coming close to getting eaten!

On Monday, still feeling bad from the vertigo, I forgot all about it. Tuesday, returning to work after Labor Day, I was out of my usual pattern and forgot then, too. Honestly, I forgot that I had to go get my own daughter at my mom’s. It wasn’t my best day, cognitively speaking.

Today, I dropped a couple bucks into the Ronald McDonald House bin while I was satiating my mad desire for a double cheeseburger.

And that has me all caught up – finally.

Inauspicious Beginnings

I came up with this idea one Saturday. I had gotten a newsletter from the City Mission, because I donate to them sometimes. I don’t always read them, but this time I did, and they covered the stories of three women and their children staying in the Family Life Center. They didn’t explicitly say so, but I got the impression that some or all of the women staying there are in recovery, which is a big deal to me because my mother has been in recovery for almost 20 years.

Recovery is a long and tough journey, and I’ve never been able to imagine what it would be like. Doing it with small children has to be overwhelming, because frankly, parenting children under normal circumstances is overwhelming, at least to me.

There was a woman who had three children, including one baby girl who’s just about to turn one. And it just so happened that I was about to buy next year’s summer clothes for our girls (clearance racks!), because there was a sale on at Kohl’s. Why not get that baby girl a little something while I was at it? Baby clothes are so fun to buy, and I don’t have any babies to buy for at the moment.

So we headed out to the store – and it was closed. Power was out. Power was out in just about the whole town, in fact, with WalMart and Target closed, too.

We sat on the hood of my car for a while, trying to figure out what to do next. It was awfully nice out, whether we got to go shopping or not. We eventually settled on the idea of going back home and going through the girls’ clothes to see what could be given away.

Only it turned out that my daughter hadn’t grown out of nearly as much as I’d thought. But I posted it on Freecycle to see what would happen. I wanted it to go straight to someone who could use it, instead of passing through a thrift store.

I got nothin’.

Two days later, I ended up just throwing everything into one of those “CLOTHING SHOES DROP BOX” thingies at the back of a church. Many of these don’t go to thrift stores, but to used clothing salespeople who sort it for recycling or sale overseas. Nonetheless, a tiny bit of money goes to the organization that hosts the dropoff box, I believe.

It wasn’t much, but this thing was rollin’.

Why Blog?

I’ve debated about putting this into blog format since coming up with this idea a week and a half ago. I can’t figure out how to make this blog anonymous without opening an entire new Blogspot account – for which I think I’d have to open a new Gmail account. I don’t want to go to huge lengths to become anonymous, but it’s a preference to remain so.

Because this is not about attention.

At this point in my life, I’m not a person who likes a lot of attention. On a personal level, sure. In a general sense, no. I don’t want praise for doing nice things, or for holding a certain philosophy.

I want people who need help to know they are cared for.

So why publish a blog? Well, as much as is isn’t about attention, it’s not about hiding, either. So many ideas I’ve come up with have never been put to action because I’ve been too shy to step up and do something. I need to stop hiding.

And sometimes, people get something from another person’s journey.

Maybe someone will read this, and decide to open their hands and their hearts more often.

Maybe someone will see it, and think, “I’d like to change a little something every day.”

Who can tell?

But for now, I’m just going to quietly blog here. Maybe someone will find it; maybe not. Maybe nothing at all will come from this experience but the things that happen to me, personally. And that will be just fine.