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One year into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Apples, running amok!

If someone in the parking lot had had a waterproof camera, I’m sure the video would have been priceless! Much of what follows is from an email I sent to the new guy, verb tense updated.

I stopped at Central and carefully picked a dozen huge Jonagold apples to contribute to the lunches for the Night Shelter. Bagged them up, six to a bag (they were nearly as big as my fist) and lugged them out to the car by the tops of the bags. I hadn’t bothered to take in one of my recycled bags, and as I had schlepped the produce bags up to the checkout with no trouble, I figured I could get everything in the car just fine, as is.

Oops.

One of the bags plummeted to the parking lot as I was opening up the back door. Four apples stayed in the bag. Two rolled under the car, one of them making a break for the Borders on the other end of the parking lot. I chased it down. The lady parked next to me found the other fugitive.

On the drive home, I prayed over the apples, that I hoped it would be OK to ask Heavenly Father to heal them and keep them from bruising. I am absolutely fierce about not giving defective things to poor people. My kids wore a lot of hand-me-downs, growing up, and most of the stuff we got was still presentable. But there were a few times when we were given things I wouldn’t have let the girls wear to a dogfight. (Not that I would have let them go to a dogfight.)

Just because somebody is poor, or homeless, or crazy, or all of the above, it doesn’t follow that they have no appreciation for beauty, or good food. Or that they don’t know when someone is condescending.

Oh, and I feed beggars, the ones who stand on corners with signs that say “hungry.” [Sometimes I go around the block to get it done.] I won’t give them money, but I can give them a burger and fries, and a tall soda in the summertime, and not once has one of them cussed me out and demanded money instead.

If that is a deal-breaker, might as well let me know now.

I know that there are lessons that I learned from poverty that I might not have learned any other way, but hunger just makes me livid. I can’t feed everybody, but I can feed one person here and another person there. [I also make a small monthly contribution to the Food Bank’s parent organization, and when I am out of debt next year, I plan to increase my donation significantly.]

Stepping off my soapbox.

His reply? Helping people in need with a meal rather than money is not a deal breaker. And it is okay to get on the soapbox occasionally as well.

The RS service project and dinner and broadcast were all, as expected, wonderful. Our goal had been to make 600+ bagged breakfasts for the Night Shelter, which typically needs 400 per day. Last year we made 400 sack lunches for them. Last night we made 800+ bagged breakfasts, which will feed those brothers and sisters for two days. I thoroughly washed those two AWOL apples before contributing them, and the six that went klunk onto the parking lot seemed to be in pretty good shape, if not quite as pristine as I had hoped. Maybe my faith was insufficient for a complete reversal of the natural consequences.

I got to sit with Secondborn and sing along with her glorious alto. (I love to sing with any or all of my girls.) After the broadcast, I followed her back home, and I served as the nominal adult while the kids slept, 2BDH went to a mixed martial arts thing, and she went to the hospital to visit NintendoMan. [She is part of the two daughters / three sons thing that made the whole idea of dating him so wonderfully weird.]

He is speaking at the non-denominational service at the hospital today. I would love to be a mouse in the corner.

I finished all the fiddly bits on Faith’s sweater yesterday. I am not crazy about the nylon snaps. I may end up taking them off and putting traditional brass ones on, instead, but for now they look fine, even if closing them fully is a bit of a chore.

While at the broadcast last night, I frogged most of the purple cashmere cowl I had begun at church last week. By the time I got home, I was more than halfway done with the new version, which will probably fit either Blessing or Celeste (but I might have to take the wig off, first). 100% cashmere. May I just state for the record that if I could dress entirely in silk and cashmere, my skin would be very, very happy. This yarn is leftover from the smoke ring scarf/cowl I made for myself a year or two ago.

Time to forage some breakfast and read my Sunday School lesson. I should be sustained and set apart for my new calling today. And then I can come home and decide if I would rather have a nap, or go to the break-the-fast and fireside this evening.

The week ahead holds dinner with the new guy, an evening at the temple, churrascaria with Brother Sushi, a black-and-white dance, a plethora of salad, and [it is devoutly to be hoped] no further episodes with fugitive apples.

2 comments:

AlisonH said...

Thank you for looking out for those with less with the passion you do.

Bonnie said...

What exactly is a black-and-white dance?