Food Pantry

It's Thursday. On Thursdays, I volunteer at the food pantry. People stand in line, in the heat, in the cold, in the rain. They sign in when it's their turn. Mostly they wait politely and follow the rules. They are very grateful. They thank us for what we do. We are the face of the food pantry, but really I do very little. I spend 2 hours checking the computer for their name, giving them a card that lets them "shop." Behind the scenes are the staff and the donors that gather the food, other volunteers who sort it and put it on the shelves. If there is a problem, I get a staff person to deal with it. I don't have to tell someone, "no, you can't have any food today." The staff tries to avoid that, too. 

I ask them for proof of residence, mail that has a postmark from the last 30 days. Mostly I don't really check. I recognize them from last week. One week there were two people I hadn't met. One man was pushing the other in a wheelchair (he had lost the lower half of his legs). Of course, I didn't ask. They were veterans; I assume he was hurt in service to our country. They laughed and joked with each other and us. Sometimes people bring their children; we all love watching babies and entertaining toddlers while their Moms pick out groceries: fresh produce, canned goods, prepared foods donated by "high-end" stores. 

Most people are grateful, pleasant, agreeable. They have come to terms with a life that requires them to get discarded groceries for free. Some are quiet, maybe depressed, lonely; some are a little odd, they talk too much or don't always make sense. Many do not speak English--only enough to say thank you. Only once did a man become angry with me when I said he needed to bring mail with him. "I've been coming here for years," he said. "I always show my driver's license, no one ever told me I needed to bring a piece of mail." I explain we want to make sure he is still living in town, at the same address. I get the supervisor to tell him. We're not going to turn him away, just asking him to bring a piece of mail next time. We wonder, privately, if something happened and he has had to move. Is he living in his car? He has a boy with him, about 10. If you are a man, with no place to live, you can pull it together to go to work at McDonald's or wherever you need to go, but a boy? How do you go to school and concentrate on learning, be cool with your friends, when you slept in a car with your Dad and your few possessions? How do you go to school with no breakfast, no shower? 

I try to be grateful, I am grateful, I try not to flaunt my privilege, no expensive jewelry or fancy clothes. When I'm talking to another volunteer, we try to discuss light subjects. I don't want anyone to overhear me talking about going out to eat or planning a vacation. I am very aware that I am so lucky to have a place to live, food to eat. I married someone who did not abandon me, who did not lose his job, become addicted, go to prison or die of cancer. I was able to go to college, have a good job, buy a house, save money for retirement. These are not things I did because I was smart, I did them because I was born lucky and stayed lucky, in spite of life's challenges.

What do I give up to spend a couple hours volunteering? Scrolling through my e-mails, ordering something on line, making cookies, reading a book? I get a lot more spending time with people who need me and thank me for being there, being cheerful whether I feel like it or not. Trying not to be angry at a world and a system that spits out and discards so many, at least temporarily. 

Cameron

I'm not super-sentimental about my dog. He doesn't sleep with us. He barks annoyingly at the mail carrier and other people going by. But I'm pretty upset that we let him get hurt Friday. 

We got home a little later than we usually do and took him for a walk later than usual. A neighbor was out with his dog. We let our dogs sniff at each other. Then the neighbor gave his dog a treat and offered one to Cameron. The other dog lunged and attacked him, Cameron cried and cowered and tried to get away. The owner of the other dog pulled and yelled and finally kicked his dog. We rushed Cameron home, bleeding. It was mostly one ear, but he seemed okay. He ate his supper, then promptly threw it up. 

The next morning, we were a little worried there might be infection. Our vet could not see him that day, but referred us to the vet emergency room, 40 minutes away. There were no appointments that day, but they encouraged us to bring him in and wait. So that was our big activity for Saturday, a beautiful day. 

The vet said she could sedate him and try to stitch it, but it might not take and would cost $1500. If it heals on its own, it won't be very pretty, she said. We said we were okay with that. Mostly we wanted to get the antibiotic in him as soon as possible. She gave him pain medicine and cleaned it. 

Then we went to the drug store. Come back in 20 minutes, they said. We took him home and Ray went back: no, not ready yet. Eventually we did get the Amoxicillin and gave it to him. He is having a little trouble negotiating with the cone they put on to keep him away from his wounds, but he did manage to eat and not throw it up. 

Not surprisingly, the other dog owner, our neighbor whom we like, feels awful and has offered to pay for everything. I feel terrible taking money from this young couple, but Ray is handling it. It was only $400. 

Another beautiful day here. With Tamara's help, I did manage to make and frost Molli's birthday cake, before and after our visit to the emergency vet. My baby is 36! We had a very nice dinner at her house. Her husband made scallops and shrimp with pasta in a cream sauce. It was yummy! We came home pretty early after a tiring day. 

semi-retired

I work three days a week, 6-hour days. It's good. Today is like Saturday, followed by two more Saturdays! It's rainy and cool, I don't have to be anywhere until 10. I woke up about 5:30, which sounds early, but it's very light here this time of year and the birds are noisy, even today. I feel good when I wake up and it's light out and I wasn't awake at all in the night (that I remember). I didn't have trouble falling asleep and now I feel energized, ready to do the things. No telling if it will last. I like volunteering at the food bank, everyone (almost always) is pleasant, some of the clients are super-grateful, and the people I work with are pretty nice. These days, it's unusual to get to know new people. Lisa and I work back-to-back. I check in and she checks out. We each have a computer. People wait in line, they sign in, they show me proof of residence (a piece of mail dated in the last 30 days). I don't really check too carefully, I just need to see their name so I can find them in the computer. I'm not too concerned if they are Beverly residents. I don't have to worry about the rules so much. There are staff I call for if there's any sort of question or problem. Lately there have been more people and less food, but still something for most people. Some people take lots of produce: potatoes, onions...usually Moms. Some people only take prepared food; they may not have access to a kitchen, or maybe they just don't cook. We get donations from Whole Foods and Henry's: lovely sandwiches and soups and casseroles; pot pie is a favorite. I'm only there 2 hours. Last week, it finally slowed down for the last ten minutes. I don't love rainy days; people have to wait outside until 10 and some have to walk home with their groceries. Some have carts, some have young children. 

It's a little bit jarring because of the plenty in my life, but I try not to let that consume me. I usually spend a lot of my free time researching my genealogy and writing up the lives of my ancestors from 325 years ago. But these days I look at houses that I might buy. This old house is great in many ways, for one thing, it's close to the ocean and I can catch glimpses of it from my bedroom. But I am outgrowing it--I have trouble with the stairs sometimes. It's too big for two of us. I long for a kitchen that is easy to use and clean, a little space between us and our neighbors, a place I can grow vegetables or sit outside without hearing everyone so close to me, talking or hammering.