happy anniversary to Roscoe, our "perfect demon"

"When you say a situation is hopeless, you're slamming the door in the face of God." - Charles L. Allen

Roscoe, our latest rescue, will celebrate his six month anniversary with us this week. Right now he’s lying at my feet, snoring loudly in his dog bed. He has no clue we’re about to mark this milestone, but as in all other situations, when the fun begins Roscoe the tiny-no-longer-terrible Terrier will be there with a cute crooked smile on his face, barking his best, most enthusiastic bark, prancing about proudly like it’s all about him, which in this case, it is.  

 When we first met Roscoe, he was not this way. He was a sad, broken, scared little fellow, so sick there wasn’t much life or love left in him. He was at the animal shelter - an “owner surrender” because his person had died and no one in the family wanted Roscoe. I will admit, I can see why.

 

He is elderly and blind in one eye. The other eye was infected which gave him a vacuous, soul-less stare. He couldn’t hear due to severe ear infections in both ears. His under-bite gave his face a crooked look; because of fleas and a skin infection, he didn’t have much hair. And, probably due to all of these things, plus some rough treatment along the way, Roscoe didn’t like to be touched.    

 

There he sat, shivering on the cold concrete floor of the kennel, looking confused and sad, scared and pitiful; at times, he made a sort of a low moaning sound. I met Roscoe briefly at the shelter, but didn’t give him much thought…there’s so many sad stories there. Then one of the volunteers at the shelter posted a video of poor little Roscoe on the group’s Facebook page. I saw it and that was it for me; I had to try and save him.

Thankfully, a local rescue got him the next day and I immediately offered to foster him. I was sure that with some medicine and a proper diet, Roscoe would be easily adoptable. After all, people love little dogs, right?

My theory started to crumble when I went to pick Roscoe up at the vet and they said, “Oh, you’re here for the biter.” What? I thought I was there for the cute little guy who would soon find a loving home - not “the biter.”   

The vet said Roscoe had one of the worst ear infections she’d ever seen and he had a mouth full of rotten teeth that would need to be pulled.

 

“He doesn’t seem to have much personality,” she said. “But maybe that’s because of all the health problems. Poor little guy. Good luck.”  

 

They helped me get Roscoe to the car, but when I tried to pick him up to get him out at home, I quickly discovered that Roscoe was, indeed, a biter. It was a quick and vicious snap that came simply from being touched and there was a nasty snarling sound.  

Once in the house, Roscoe’s other issues became apparent. He ran about, pooping and peeing whenever and wherever he liked. He jumped on the furniture and up on the tables, searching for food as if he’d never been fed. Roscoe was a miniature version of the Tasmanian Devil. I fed him a big meal and, to his credit, he quickly found his newly purchased dog bed and fell into a deep sleep. It was the same kind of slumber I saw homeless people sleep, years ago when I worked in an emergency room. It was as if a full belly, a warm bed and the feeling of even temporary safety overwhelmed the soul and it simply shut down peacefully.   

 

I immediately fired off an email to the rescue, detailing the reasons Roscoe wasn’t going to work out. Then, something about the sight and sound of him enjoying that deep sleep struck me and made me decide to give Roscoe another chance.   

 

Day by day, Roscoe settled in. He became less wild and more willing to do his business outside. He stopped running all over the furniture and gradually seemed to notice us. It wasn’t that he needed our approval or sought our affection; he just seemed to appreciate the regular meals and a routine. He still snapped when we tried to touch him and didn’t like being picked up, but he allowed us to clip his leash on for walks and could hop in the car by himself, so we all began to get along.

Once he was squared away enough health-wise to go through the surgery, Roscoe went back to the vet to have his rotten teeth pulled. By this time we’d pretty much decided we’d adopt Roscoe as the list of strikes against him was just too long for potential adopters to deal with and, besides, Roscoe had wiggled his way into our hearts.

The vet said the dental surgery would be tough, but Roscoe would feel so much better afterwards that he could end up acting like a totally different dog. And, that is exactly what happened.

 

Within a week, Roscoe became the most friendly, affectionate little guy you could ever want to meet. He loves being petted and having his head scratched. He rolls over for belly rubs and enjoys being brushed. We still can’t pick him up without a snarl and a snap, but there’s no need to carry him anywhere, so no worries there. It turns out there was a great dog inside that poor pitiful pooch, living in such pain. Needless to say we adopted him.

 

The other day Mr. Clark came down from his home office proudly proclaiming he’d Googled Roscoe and it turns out he’s what looks to be a purebred Norfolk Terrier. According to the AKC, Roscoe is “one of the smallest working terriers, active, compact and hardy.” His breed is described as “fearless and with incredible courage.” Farmers and hunters admire their “gameness, loyalty and great charm.”

The Norfolk Terrier’s temperament is “happy, spirited and self-confident.” They are also “barkers and very vocal.” Roscoe and his kin are considered to be the “perfect demon” - “self-confident dogs who carry themselves with presence and importance and thrive on human contact.”

Yep! That’s our Roscoe. The breed’s life expectancy is 8-14 years, which means we don’t have a lot of time left with Roscoe. But what time we have, we will enjoy, treating our little guy like the king he has become. Happy 6-month-anniversary, Roscoe!  

 

 

 

 

 

 

looking at lights and letting them go...

“We’re born with millions of little lights shining in the dark and they show us the way. One lights up every time you feel love in your heart. One dies when it moves away.” – Passenger, “All the Little Lights”

We’ve been doing some remodeling lately, which means sorting, cleaning, painting and reflecting – a lot of reflecting - so many memories encapsulated in such a mess. Living in a house, busy with the day to day, year after year, one doesn’t notice the wear and tear that indicates time is passing. A mark here, a scuff there, a small crack in the wall…Life goes on. We resolve to clean and patch, sort and organize, but we never do...

Then, at some point, the kids move on, life settles and slows, and it’s time to face the disorganized mess that has become obvious between these now oh, so quiet walls. It’s easy to stay distracted in a loud house full of activity, but once that’s done, the long neglected boxes and bins filled with forgotten memories begin whispering from the dark dusty places where they’ve been piled away…

“If you’re going to move ahead you have to deal with us someday… “ those bins and boxes seem to say. And, one look at the true state of these walls, closets, baseboards and cabinets clearly indicates that “someday” is today.  

Starting into all this is hard; listening to music helps. An album I find myself playing over and over again is “All the Little Lights” by Passenger. As I sift, scrub and paint, the song about all the little lights has become a favorite. It’s a sort of anthem for the process I’m going through – reliving the lighting up and going out of so many little lights over the years…

Part of repairing, repainting and remembering is to take some photos down and hang others up. The work under way needs to be to archive rather than hoard - to define how to honor all those little lights still shining and those that have gone out, while leaving space for the lights still to come, the memories still to be made, the photos still to be taken.  

As I proceed, I find each project has a tipping point - the point at which the possibility of completion becomes clear and the need for closure sets in, becoming bigger and more urgent than the search for distraction or the need to avoid. The act of finishing one project provides inspiration to go on to the next…and the next…and the next…And, before long, you realize that it feels good to take control of your environment, as miserable and tedious as the process is.  

At our house, for the first time ever, the process of complete renewal has reached a tipping point. There is no going back. I’m throwing away far more than I’m keeping and that is as it should be. I can’t be headed into the future bogged down by toting around too much of the past.

As I repaint, renew, redo I reflect on all the little lights, tucked away or proudly displayed. It occurs to me that a house is a home - not a museum. There should be some blank space left on the freshly painted walls.

Initially, my hope was to get the house organized before I put the garden in. Optimistic at best, delusional at worst, the scope of the project far exceeds this timeline. Now I’m wrestling with the need for balance – how to keep the home project momentum going without letting it dominate my life? If I’m truly in this for the long haul, I can’t let my need for closure in each room loom larger than putting the garden in and attending to the other things that need attending to.  

The key is to live the process, steer a clear course during the journey and remember that life is lived one room, one garden, one season at a time. There is a balance between obsession with order and complete neglect. Just because I’ve not found that balance before doesn’t mean I can’t find it now. My goal is to find that balance, learn to maintain it and continue to experience the journey as a ride through all those flickering lights along the way…

It will also behoove me to stay diligent about cleaning. Chaos overtakes order much quicker than order is reclaimed from chaos.  Peace of mind can be found in a box of Swifter dusters, a good vacuum, a quality mop and some clean-smelling cleaner. And, don’t forget to add a non-negotiable cleaning schedule to the calendar. Then there’s the music, whether it be listened to on Ipod headphones or blasted out of old school speakers – to keep the momentum going, keep the music playing, in your heart and in your head.    

 

Hans Hofmann said, “The ability to simplify means to eliminate the unnecessary so that the necessary may speak." So true. I would add something about all the little lights, shining in the dark and showing us the way…

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

money...happiness...empathy...greed?

“Money may not buy happiness, but I’d rather cry in a Jaguar than on a bus.” – Francoise Sagan

Money has always been a tough topic for me. I grew up in a family that didn’t have much of it and for years Mr. Clark and I struggled to make ends meet. There was a time, a frighteningly long time, during the recession when Mr. Clark was out of work. Nothing like having the wolves claw through the door to make you appreciate the thing that kept them simply howling outside and that thing was money…

 

Thankfully, those times are gone and for the first time in my life, I am able to live comfortably, without money worries. It’s a strange and wonderful blessing and it has me knocking on wood, trying hard to be ever humble and being careful to be generous. When I saw an NPR offering this morning titled “Does Money Make You Mean?” you can imagine how quickly I clicked on it.    

 

This TED talk (www.ted.com/talks) by a social psychologist named Paul Piff describes “how wealth changes behavior and how almost anyone's behavior can change when they're made to feel rich.” Piff does his research at the University of California - Berkeley and he also travels in circles of researchers who are interested in the same topic.

 

In one study, he rigged games of Monopoly to create privileged players, in another Piff tracked how drivers in expensive cars behave behind the wheel. In other experiments, he tested whether people who felt poor or rich were the most likely to take candy labeled as being specifically for children; he also tested who is more likely to be generous or help others.        

 

What Piff found was “increased wealth and status in society lead to increased self-focus and, in turn, decreased compassion, altruism, and ethical behavior." He adds that he is not suggesting only wealthy people show these patterns of behavior. “We all, in our day-to-day, minute-by-minute lives, struggle with these competing motivations of when, or if, to put our own interests above the interests of other people.”

 

Some of the studies used real income, others simply made people feel rich or poor, based on their role in the study. Here’s how the work unfolded:   

 

In the rigged Monopoly game, a coin flip determined if a player was “rich” or “poor.” The “rich” players received more starting money, twice the dice rolls around the board and twice the funds when they passed Go. They also got to use the Rolls Royce game piece. The “poor” players were given the shoe game piece and no advantages. All the players quickly realized the game was rigged. At the end of the game, the winning players (all from the advantaged group) were asked why they won. The consensus was, in Piff’s words, “because I’m so awesome.” They talked about experience, skills and knowledge; some mentioned lucky rolls of the dice. None seemed to remember that a coin toss was what had turned them into “a privileged player in a rigged game.”  

 

In the driving study, Piff’s team observed “hundreds of drivers over several days.” What they saw was that drivers of expensive cars are 50 percent more likely to break the law than those with inexpensive cars. In fact, those in the least expensive cars did not break the law at all.   

 

The experiment involving who was more likely to take kids’ candy revealed that subjects who were made to feel rich (with the same types of entitlements as the subjects in the Monopoly game) took twice as much candy from a kid-ear- marked bowl as participants who felt poor.

 

The generosity study involved rich participants and poor participants being given the opportunity to share $10 with a stranger in need. The poor participants were consistently more generous than the rich. 

 

Piff states that in “dozens of studies with thousands of subjects” researchers find that “as a person’s wealth increases, their feeling of compassion and empathy go down, while their feelings of entitlement increase…The wealthier you are, the more entitled you feel to that wealth and the more likely you are to prioritize your own interests above the interests of other people.”  

 

Is Piff condemning wealth or the wealthy? Yes and no. He concludes the talk by making it clear that the research also indicates with “small nudges in certain directions…levels of egalitarianism and empathy can be restored.” The example he gives is of a study that involved subjects watching a 46 second video about childhood poverty. They were then given the opportunity to help a stranger in distress who was presented to them in the lab. The results indicated that rich people are just as generous as poor people, which had not been the case before watching the video.

 

“This suggests that these differences are not innate or categorical, but are malleable to little nudges of compassion and bumps of empathy,” Piff says.  

 

I’m not sure what the lesson in all this is for me…I do know all of those months of Mr.Clark’s unemployment gave me a deep and sincere appreciation for, “There but for the grace of God, go I…”

 

I believe there is no inherent harm in wealth, nor nobility in poverty; and, those in the middle class certainly understand the struggle. And, whether moving the Rolls Royce or the shoe around the Monopoly board of life, beware of that feeling of entitlement and never, ever take all the credit for where you end up in the game. 

 

Be mindful, be careful; remain thankful and self-aware…While much of my family’s current financial security is the result of hard work, luck has also been a factor and, as in all things, so has the hand of the Lord.  

 

Roscoe, our pound puppy, about helping his friends

“It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” – Eleanor Roosevelt 

For years I’ve visited Barrow County Animal Control, almost weekly, in pursuit of Pets of the Week photos for the newspaper. I’ve done this for three papers, so I can say I’ve spent a good bit of time with the poor souls who end up at the shelter.

Some are dumped; others are brought in as strays. Sometimes pets are given up because of things they do – like escape from the yard or pee on the carpet or bark too much. Other times they are surrendered because their people have fallen on hard times, ended up in assisted living or died. Pregnant animals, sick animals, animals about to pass get given up because their people don’t know how or lack the funds to cope…So many sad stories…so many sad eyes.   

For all the ways dogs, cats, puppies and kittens find their way into the shelter, there are only three ways out – adoption, rescue or euthanasia. Barrow’s adoption and rescue numbers are getting better, but the sad reality is that most of the animals are euthanized.   

This is no one and everyone’s fault. The animal control staff does the best they can with the resources they have, but those resources are limited. There is simply no time in their day to provide more than the bare essentials. And so, the animals at the shelter spend what’s left of their time on cold concrete floors, in loud kennels with no access to the outside, listening to each other bark, howl, yowl and meow. Some watch the passersby with hope; others give up, curl up and wait to die.

A bit of hope began floating in the air at the shelter last summer when a volunteer group was organized. (Before then volunteers weren’t allowed, but thankfully that changed and Boy! did they go to work…) Within weeks there were new water bowls in every kennel – previously there was watering system that many dogs couldn’t figure out so dehydration was a risk. Then came rolling buckets, compete with new mops and squeegies for each room, to help clean the kennels…

 

Up went a website and a Facebook page featuring photos and information about each available pet. Then came an Amazon.com wish list and calls for donations of cleaning supplies, beds, blankets and towels to make the animals more comfortable. Other welcome donations include treats, chews and unopened, unexpired bags of food. There’s a certain kind of leash that’s easy to slip on and hard to get out of – that’s on the wish list, as are Nyla bones as something for bored dogs to do.

 

The volunteers take the dogs outside to walk them, rub their bellies, and assess how socialized they are. Is this dog friendly? Can it walk on a leash? Does it know “Sit!” How does it do with other dogs? Often that hyper, timid or shy edge goes away once that pup is outside, away from the nervousness and noise.

Some of the volunteers have experience with rescue organizations, so they spend their time finding the next stop and transport for lucky future pets. Others know about dog behavior or specialize in cats, so they are able to tell potential adopters what they are getting (and how great that will be...) Several volunteers with kids do “kid testing” with dogs and cats. There are volunteers who solicit pledges for foster care and treatment of sick animals. And, there are volunteers who want to help, but get too sad at seeing the animals, so they wash food bowls, do laundry and help maintain the shelter landscaping.

Basically, the volunteers do things the staff doesn’t have time to do. They understand many of the animals will die, but they want to maximize their chances of making it out of the shelter while making their time there more comfortable.

 

Recently, I started volunteering at the shelter. The training program requires that I spend time with an already trained volunteer before I have access to the animals, so currently, when alone, I wash food and water bowls, fill water dishes and do laundry. When I’m with a trained volunteer, we scoop poop, hand out towels, blankets and beds, spend time with the cats and take dogs outside.

One thing I can do now is hand out treats and that’s just wonderful. Some of the dogs are super friendly and enthusiastic, eager to greet and gobble the treat. Others are scared, too scared to trust, if even only long enough to take a treat. Some have just shut down and are curled up, not willing to even make eye contact. The cats are the same – some climb on the bars of their cages to scream how great they are, others are unable to respond. 

Over time, and it’s a very limited time, most of the animals become less suspicious and more trusting. They’ve learned it’s okay to take a treat and listen to a few kind words from a human passing by.

My goal as a volunteer is to become trained enough to spend time with dogs outside and cats inside. I have a soft heart and cry easily, so I’m not sure how this will work out. My heart might get too broken, too quickly to continue on…One thing I ponder, as I wash bowls and fold laundry, is why do something that will make me sad for animals, many of whom won’t make it out of the shelter alive?

 

What I’ve come up with is that all creatures need something to dream about. Even on a cold, hard, concrete kennel floor a sleeping dog dreams, so maybe the good I can do by giving that dog a belly rub or short walk, or by giving that cat some loving, is to give them something to dream about - something warm and pleasant and nice - a few moments when they felt loved and like things are going to turn out alright.

Last week there was a small, old, blind, deaf, badly matted and obviously confused dog circling its kennel, trying to figure out where it was. A volunteer brought the old dog a nice, soft, little bed, coaxed him into it and there he settled, almost instantly, into a deep sleep…

 Saving Barrow County Animal Control Pets is the volunteer’s page on Facebook; find them online at www.barrowpets.org. For information and how you can help, go there. The shelter is located at 616 Barrow Park Drive. Donations of unexpired, unopened pet food, bleach, paper towels are always welcome. And, now that there are people to hand them out, dog and cat treats are also much appreciated.

 

daffodils to chase the dark away...

“There is some kind of a sweet innocence in being human  - in not having to be just happy or just sad - in the nature of being able to be both broken and whole, at the same time.” – C. Joybell C.

This is a difficult time of year for me. The fun and festivity of the holidays is long gone and spring seems far away. The brief bright days we get now and then only tantalize, and accentuate how bleak, cold and dreary the gray days are. I feel cold, bone cold; it’s hard to muster a positive mood or a good attitude. I know I am well blessed and I’m thankful for that, in a quiet, gloomy sort of way – think Eeyore in Winnie the Pooh and you have me on a March day.

I’ve struggled through late winter and early spring for years. For a while I thought it was depression, but the fact that it always goes away once the days become consistently warm tells me I suffer from something more temporary. Being S.A.D. as in having Seasonal Affect Disorder makes more sense. This is a state brought on by a shortage of Vitamin D, which is caused by too little time in the sun.  

The suggested remedies for S.A.D. include spending time near a box lit with natural light, replacing regular light bulbs with all-spectrum ones, taking Vitamin D supplements and spending more time in the sparse late winter sun. If these things fail (and I find they do) seeing a therapist, taking antidepressant drugs and/or going on a cruise are next on the potential cure list. In lieu of doing any of those things, I pick daffodils, almost daily. Their cheery bright yellowness lessons my gloom and I feel warm when I look at them.  

Daffodils bloom all over Barrow County and as I pick them, I wonder how they got to the places where they grow. Daffodils aren’t native and don’t grow naturally; someone had to plant them. Who, when and why? So many untold stories in those bouquets of light, growing in such abundance along the roadside, in abandoned lots and in fields where oblivious animals graze.

 
Before I discovered daffodils during these S.A.D. days, I wrestled fiercely with my depression. I alternated fighting and trying to conquer it, with applying reason in an effort to will it away. Nothing worked; my S.A.D. got bigger and bleaker every year.
 
Then I discovered The Black Dog. William Styron, the author, called his depression “The Black Dog.” That was his way of naming it, putting a face on it and coming up with a way to coexist with it. I liked that idea and so the next time my own Black Dog came around, silently slinking his way onto the porch of my S.A.D. mind, I let him in, gave him a name and eventually adopted him. This seems to be just what he was waiting for because since we’ve come up with this arrangement he’s much gentler with me.
 

My Black Dog usually shows up in mid-to-late January. Occasionally, he appears later - a few times so much later that I thought he’d found someone else’s S.A.D. door to darken. But no, there he came, never to be forgotten, as predictable as the blooming of those daffodils.     

 

It may be surprising that one can develop a consistent and respectful relationship with one’s depression, but over the years my Black Dog and I have forged just that. He lets me work, and feed the bright red cardinals in my yard, and gather daffodils by the side of the road. And, I let him stay, ever present, on the couch near my computer desk, in the back seat of the car, at my feet in the kitchen, on a rug near the fire.

 

Our relationship is not a forced one; we know our time together is temporary. I accept The Black Dog and he stays in his place. There was a time when he’d try to take control, but as I became more comfortable with his visits – remembering they are always finite – he became a less pushy and manipulative guest. Now we simply coexist, knowing that as soon as April comes and the dogwoods bloom, my Black Dog will lope off, to return only when the cold winds kick up again. 

If you’ve known the privilege of having an old (real) dog as a companion, you’ve seen the determination and optimism with which dogs deal with aging, aches and pains. They face this adversity with a consistency equal to the brightness of those daffodils. No matter how tired and sore they become, they greet each day with hope and the obvious will to continue on. 

Maybe this is why I have accepted my Black Dog as the companion that he’s become. Learning to accept and coexist with him has helped me see that I, too, can face adversity with consistency, determination and optimism.

And, so here my Black Dog lies, always near, keeping his dark vigil until spring and its message of hope return. Some nights, when the wind is whipping fiercely or the sky is particularly dark, I am comforted by the sound of his tail thump thumping at the foot of my bed. Just like those daffodils, he soothes my sad heart and I fall back to sleep listening to the soft sound of his breathing, knowing that he’s dreaming of the adventures he’ll have, once he leaves my side once more.  

 

 

 

sorting through...letting go...

Is willing to accept that she creates her own reality except for some of the parts where she can’t help but wonder what the hell she was thinking. – Brian Andreas and the StoryPeople

 

I spent the past two days cleaning out a storage room I’ve done nothing but add things to for the past 23 years. What a mess! I knew I had hoarding tendencies and an over emotional attachment to the past, but this was ridiculous.

 

I seem to have saved every toy my kids ever played with, nearly every drawing either of them did, plus most of the stories or writing they penned. I also saved every greeting card I’ve ever received, a collection of old costumes for all ages (now ruined by squirrels and mice), a few magazines, and a box of beach things – kites, squirt guns, pool floaties, water noodles and such - that, judging from the condition they’re in, are from about the mid-90’s. We’ve been to the beach since then, but didn’t use any of this stuff. Apparently, I just put it all away and forgot about it. 

 

Holiday decorations? Oh, yes, I saved plenty of those. Most were only used a few times, then packed away and forgotten, left to disintegrate slowly, with gnawed off pieces adding a festive touch to mouse and squirrel nests along the way.

 

Old school notebooks, my kids’ high school classwork, most of their report cards – beginning with pre-school – were also all dumped into plastic bins and stashed away. I even found a small metal trunk full of my high school things - notebooks, school work, report cards, diaries and other long forgotten and no longer remotely relevant objects.  

 

Since I come from a family of hoarders and people with an over emotional attachment to the past, some of this is not a surprise. I did sigh a long sigh of dismay, however, when I found several boxes of things my family saved from long, long ago and handed off to me. I’ve never even opened these boxes and I’ve been toting them around with me for the past 30 years. Why? Because a scrap book containing every “Congratuations!” card my parents received at their wedding or a box of “It’s a Girl!” well wishes sent when I was born are of interest to anyone anymore? My parents are long divorced and I am 56 years old…Good Lord!  

 

How does this happen? How do we let the past take such a hold of us or at least our storage space? Don’t our memories fill that purpose? And if memory fails, there are photos, photo albums and digital frames to refresh our versions of the past. Why hold on to a birthday card from 1985 or a child’s afterschool note saying he’s playing at a neighbor’s? There is simply no reason in this…

 

I’ve always been sentimental, but I became an excessive saver when my mom died. I was 19, she was 37, it was a sudden unexpected death and it sent me into a tail spin, thinking that I, too, was cursed to die a premature death. Because of that everything became more precious to me, not only because life was so fleeting, but because I wanted to leave a record for my loved ones to sift through – a tangible way for them to remember me when I was gone. With that as my mind set, even the most mundane of objects was elevated to the status of future relic. In one of my boxes I found an old blue Noxema jar with 3 rings from a gum ball machine tucked safely inside…Seriously? Rings from a gum ball machine?  

 

Once I hit the age of 38 and saw that my life was not over, my reason for hoarding turned into simply being too busy to sort through things and keep up. And, I was busy - very busy with kids, work, family, pets, projects and what seemed like one million things to get done each day. This went on for years…

 

I recently read that we hang on to pride, anger, outdated opinions and fears in the same way we hoard old birthday cards, souvenirs, paperwork, clothes, broken toys, etc. Over the years, this becomes a habit and we don’t give it much thought as the boxes and bins (literal and emotional) stack up and get piled away, un-inventoried or attended to.   

 

Going through all of those long lost and forgotten boxes was dirty, unpleasant and sometimes sad; it was also poignant and cathartic. It felt good to pile those 12 black trash bags by the curb alongside seven bashed up suitcases and four boxes of things too heavy to put in trash bags. It was freeing to drop off three loads at Goodwill. And, it feels just fine to replace what is being kept, in a much more organized manner, back in that storage room.     

 

The question is can I do the same thing with some of my pride, anger, fear and a few of those outdated opinions?

 

William Morris said, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."  Shouldn’t we strive for that in our hearts and minds, as well?

 

The next time I’m tempted to stash something away, whether it be tangible or emotional, I’m going to ask myself what purpose will this serve? Does my need to box or bin this away come from love or fear or simply laziness?  

 

My life is more secure and less busy than it once was, so I’m finding it easier to not collect. And, I’m realizing that I hold my dearest memories close in my heart and they remain true over time. No need to collect them in plastic bins and boxes… no need at all.    

 

everybody deserves food...

"For now I ask no more than the justice of eating." – Pablo Neruda, Nobel Prize winner

I can’t imagine being hungry, as in truly hungry/I have no food hungry. But, there are plenty of people right here in Barrow County, many of them children, who face this challenge each day. The reasons for their plight are many; the solution is simple – be sure those who are hungry, for whatever reason, have access to food.

For the past couple of years I’ve volunteered at one of the places hungry people in our community get food. It’s the monthly Mobile Food Pantry, held at Holly Hill Mall in Winder, on the fourth Thursday of each month, beginning at 9 a.m. – rain or shine. The mobile pantry is sponsored by the Barrow County Cooperative Benevolence Ministries (BCCBM), a non-profit, all volunteer organization.   

The food, some 30,000 pounds of it each distribution, is purchased from the Food Bank of NE GA by whatever organization sponsors the mobile pantry that month. A one month sponsorship costs $800 and $400 co-sponsorships are available. The food varies from month to month, but each month some 450-500 local, low income households receive enough food to light up their eyes and fill their bellies for a few days, a week, or more.

“Our neighbors in need,” as the BCCBM says, start lining up around 5:30 in the morning, no matter the weather, to get a number and stand in line for the food. Income and residence are verified and the need is such that by the time the distribution begins, the parking lot is nearly full and the line loops several times.    

Volunteers do the paperwork, pack the food and help take it to the vans, pick-up trucks, cars, bicycles or places in the parking lot where folks are waiting for their ride. Sometimes it’s one household per vehicle, other times as many as five or six share the cost of gas. Folks on bicycles have to be particularly creative to get their food loaded securely…Last month, I helped three people load their shares into a single shopping cart…”Don’t worry, ma’am,” they said, cheerfully. “We live nearby. Thank you and God Bless.”     

We distribute the food on hot days, cold days, rainy days and in perfect weather. No matter the temperature, the need and mission remain the same – get the food to those who need it as quickly and efficiently as possible.

I am a “runner” at the distributions, meaning I help get the boxes and bags of food to the folks’ cars, etc. I like this job because it gives me a chance to talk with the people and get a glimpse into their lives. I am invariably humbled and put back in touch with how very blessed I am. As with any “hand out” situation, there’s the temptation to evaluate and judge, and as with any service opportunity, those tendencies are best faced and shelved.

Your car may be newer and nicer than mine, but I don’t know what challenges you face or who in your household is going to get this food. You may have nicely manicured nails and talk on a smart phone, but something in your life led you to get into this long line very early in the morning, simply to get a box or two of food…My place is not to judge, but to serve.

Over the months I’ve seen such poignant things and my heart strings have been tugged time and time again…One month a girl my children went to school with waited patiently in the car for her grandmother and I to return with the food. She hugged me warmly, asked after my kids, then said she’d been on a liver transplant list for months, but no donor match, so now she was in liver failure…I don’t know what happened to her, but I’ve not seen her since.

There are sad people and happy people, people who praise the Lord and express excitement about the food, and those who complain that it is too little or not what they had in mind…There are people with clear physical challenges and people doing all they can to help family members…There are old people and young people, middle aged people and kids…It’s the kids who really get me - faces all excited at the sight of things my children took for granted, things like blueberries, strawberries, milk or a few small cartons of fruit yoghurt...

Last month there was asparagus and pineapple in the box. One woman was so excited to see that, tears almost came to her eyes…”I love asparagus and pineapple and I can’t remember the last time I was able to afford them.”   

Some of the people clearly work, hard, out of their vehicles; others seem to be living in them. There are folks with trunks full of who knows what from who knows where; others’ vehicles are so clean we could safely dine off their floors.

My point is, each month the food distribution reminds me, clearly, that “There but by the grace of God, go I.” The people in that line are as varied, interesting, challenged and flawed as the rest of us…We’re all in this together and we all need help sometimes.

Sponsors for the food distribution are always needed and volunteers are always welcome. For information, call BCCBM officers Al Brown, 770-868-7269, or Gwen Hill, 770-867-6546.