by Amy Newmark
I drove like a zombie from work to home that day in the rain. The irony was not lost on me that I was living a life that was full of “stuff,” yet feeling so empty. Just then, as I pulled off the exit ramp to my street, I saw a man cowering in the rain, drenched in a T-shirt and grungy muddied jeans. He held a sign made from a pizza box that said “HELP ME.”
Had I seen this man many other times and been preoccupied? Other drivers had surely passed him by today without a second look. My heart hurt for him. Glancing over at my passenger seat, I saw both of my rain jackets. The universe was on the loudspeaker and I understood.
I had never been so thankful for something I gave up.
Without a second to lose before the light turned green, I rolled down my window and handed the man my beloved hooded green rain jacket. I just barely caught the look of gratitude in his eyes before the cars beeping behind me forced me to move on. But I saw him mouth the words “thank you” before wriggling into the weatherproof garment and pulling up the hood.
As I drove away I thought about how that jacket had kept me warm and dry in the mountains of Colorado, on family vacations, canoe trips, and once when I stood in a long winding line at a concert. Now I prayed that my jacket would shelter him from not only that day’s rain, but also perhaps many more days to come. I knew without question that he would value the jacket far more than I had.
I had never been so thankful for something I gave up. Seeing that man made me feel ashamed at my own self-pity. I had a roof over my head, clothes to wear and many ways to rebound from my current misfortune. I knew when my last paycheck arrived from my job that I had savings to fall back on, and my husband was poised to help me figure out the rest.
We sometimes count our blessings in things. The truth is one of the greatest blessings we have is our own ability to look beyond ourselves.
~Leah Shearer Noonan
The Joy of Freecycling
I only feel angry when I see waste — when I see people throwing away things we could use.
~Mother Teresa
When my wife and I moved our family to the North Carolina mountains to simplify our lives, we were thrilled to find a home with plenty of storage space: a full garage, six closets and two walk-in storage areas in the loft. It brought home to us what a prosperous country we live in, one where we have so much room to store so much stuff. The downside is that it’s been a real challenge to maintain our simple approach to life when our home is constantly filling up with stuff.
Maybe it’s that my wife and I have recessive hoarding genes. After all, when Ann drives the forty-five miles down the mountain to visit her mother, she usually returns with the car full of stuff her mother no longer wants. Then there’s all the stuff we’ve acquired from the two rental properties we own when the tenants move out and leave behind their own stuff.
And it’s not that some of this stuff isn’t good, usable stuff. It often is very good stuff: toys, clothes, furniture, household appliances, dishes, pots and pans, even a five-burner stainless steel grill. But for whatever reason these items didn’t make the grade when it was time for the tenants to move on. So we were left to figure out what to do with it all.
Lucky for us we discovered freecycling shortly after one of our tenants vacated a three-bedroom house, leaving behind a massive amount of stuff, not all of which was trash. The concept of freecycling is simple, as explained on their website: Freecycle is “a grassroots and entirely nonprofit movement of people who are giving (and getting) stuff for free in their own towns. It’s all about reuse and keeping good stuff out of landfills.”
After that tenant moved out, my wife washed ten laundry loads of children’s clothing, then folded and organized them according to size. We offered the clothes on Freecycle. They were scooped up by several families who expressed their gratitude with notes and e-mails back to us. The same was true for the many different toys, kitchenware, and several pieces of still usable furniture. We have given away TVs, couches, clothes, tables, shoes, make-up, shampoo, and luggage — all perfectly usable stuff that stayed out of the landfill. All of it found new homes through Freecycle.
One of the best things about freecycling is that by pulling together in their local communities, people have kept tons of perfectly good, usable stuff out of landfills.
We started recycling so much stuff through Freecycle that we had to set up a special “Freecycle table” next to our garage so people who’d requested the items we posted on our local Freecycle e-mail list could pick them up at their convenience. Suddenly, we became very popular in our small mountain community.
But freecycling works both ways. We have often posted requests on Freecycle before purchasing something to see if anyone had what we were looking for. Often, within a day or two, we have someone offering to help us out. My daughter found a great pair of rhinestone shoes that she needed for her upcoming prom. Then when it was time for her to start setting up her own household, she received her first set of dishes, a bed frame, and a headboard, all through Freecycle. Some of the other items we’ve received were plants for our garden, microwave dishes, curtain rods and brand new pillow stuffing my wife made into pillows for our sofa. We even received carpeting left over from a new installation that we cut up and used for entryway mats and a rug in our guest bedroom.
One of the best things about freecycling is that by pulling together in their local communities, people have kept tons of perfectly good, usable stuff out of landfills while at the same time helping their neighbors. Now that’s what I call a win-win-win scenario.
~W. Bradford Swift
Nun the Worse for Wear
Objects really do acquire a life of their own, when they’ve been held and loved for years.
~Vito Giallo
I was dusting the furniture in the living room and I realized we never used this room anymore. I had long bemoaned not having enough space for our dining room table and here was an entire area adjacent to the kitchen that would be perfect! It was filled with living room furniture that was as good as new because we never sat in there. Surely, someone else could put this beautifully upholstered, three-piece sectional with two cherry tables to good use.
My husband, the keeper of all things, would need a solid explanation. I had one. He would need justification. I had that too.
When George came home from work that night, I poured him a cold beer and he sat down to read the newspaper while I put the finishing touches on dinner. When he was sufficiently relaxed, I announced we were ready to eat. We sat down at the table. The stage was set and I was on.
“I’d like to sell our living room furniture,” I announced.
“Which living room?” he asked. “And why?”
“The one upstairs, in the next room. We never use that furniture anymore. We always gravitate to the family room downstairs. I’d like to convert this larger room to a dining area so I can put the leaves in the table when we entertain. We have the breakfast bar in the kitchen for the four of us in the morning.”
He pondered those thoughts and surprised me by saying, “You’re right. What’s your plan?”
I shared my idea of putting an ad in the PennySaver and on craigslist. George was happy to give me free rein, leaving the planning and execution entirely up to me. So I placed the ad.
I didn’t realize how emotionally attached I was to this living room set until the first prospective buyer came to take a look. They talked about reupholstering and taking it apart and weren’t sure they liked the wood. I felt my stomach churn. I wanted to yell, “That’s solid cherry!” and I was outrageously glad when they left, saying they needed to think about it. I also needed time to think because something was telling me to hold off selling this furniture.
It was filled with living room furniture that was as good as new because we never sat in there.
Several nights later, I had a vivid dream. Of nuns. They were the nuns in the convent across town who worked at the Catholic elementary school our son attended. In my dream, they urgent
ly needed a new couch. We delivered our furniture to them with our pickup truck and a few strong men placed it in their living room. I saw the sisters run their hands over the unblemished upholstery while they marveled at the lovely cherry tables. I remember being happy to know the set was going to a good home.
Over breakfast, I shared my dream with George. He looked at me, smiled, and gently patted my cheek. He said, “It’ll be okay.” I’m sure he thought I would need counseling after letting the furniture go.
As soon as he left for work, I called the convent. I spoke with one of the nuns and asked if I could drop by that afternoon. She said they would have the teapot on and looked forward to seeing me.
When I arrived on the doorstep of the convent and rang the bell, I was greeted by the principal of the school. “Come in, come in, we’ve been waiting for your visit.”
She ushered me into their living room. “Please have a seat,” she said. “But be careful on that old sofa; it has a spring poking through it and can hurt if you sit on the wrong spot.” Sure enough, when I sat down, I felt the offending spring prodding me to move to the right.
The sisters and I talked over tea and I addressed the reason for my visit, the living room suite for which I was trying to find a home. I described the design, size and color and asked if they thought they could use it.
The principal put her hand up to her mouth. “We’ve been praying for a way to replace the old sofa, but I’m afraid we can’t afford to buy anything for the house at this time.”
“I don’t want to sell it to you, I want to give it to you.”
The sisters clapped their hands with unabashed glee as they praised the Lord for an answer to their prayers. It was just like my dream. Now I knew why I wasn’t supposed to sell that furniture!
The deal was done and we set a date for delivery. I reassured the sisters that we would arrange to have the manpower to unload the set, place it in their living room and remove the old sofa.
Later that week, our living room sectional was taken to its new home in the convent. The nuns were immensely delighted and I was relieved. I had explained to them how badly I wanted a good home for our very first furniture on which as newlyweds, we had cuddled while watching TV and later had held our children as we read stories aloud.
As George and I were leaving the convent, the wise and kind sisters called out from the doorway, “You have visiting rights for as long as you need!”
~Nancy Emmick Panko
Getting It Gone
Go into the world and do well. But more importantly, go into the world and do good.
~Minor Myers
I was planning another garage sale. I was looking around the basement deciding which objects were to be liberated when I had an awful recollection. The last garage sale I had taken part in a few years earlier had taken days of planning, sorting, setting up and pricing. I had been sure I was going to make a killing. The only thing that came close to being “a killing” that time was my narrowly escaping death due to heat stroke. I don’t think I cleared enough to even pay for the paper price tags I bought.
It occurred to me it might be crazy to try that again. The items I planned on selling this time were usable but not big ticket. There was too much to schlep to Goodwill and not the right kind of thing for the places that pick up clothing and household items, and with shipping costs it would not have made sense to put them on eBay.
I had once cherished some of these things and I had already gotten good use from them. Maybe they could be cherished and useful for someone else now. Did I really care if I didn’t get a few dollars for the lovely Christmas tablecloths that I had used when the family Christmas gatherings were bigger? That’s when it hit me. I could just give these good, but unneeded things away — joyfully, with no haggling, no worrying about donation receipts for taxes.
That Saturday morning I spray painted FREE STUFF on a piece of plywood and dragged it and half my unwanted things out to the driveway. I went back up to my office and started doing some client work. Two hours later, I noticed people poking around starting to take things. Encouraged by this, I started dragging the rest of the stuff out.
That’s when the fun began. When people saw me they started asking questions: Is it really all free? Can I take as much as I want? I offered empty boxes and told them to fill them up. One woman walked up to me, shook my hand and said, “You are the smartest person I ever met. I sat out in my driveway for two days last weekend and only made forty dollars. This is much more fun.” And indeed it felt like a party!
People were so happy. One elderly woman approached me with my beloved Christmas tablecloths in her hand. She actually had tears in her eyes and told me that she always wanted tablecloths like these for her family holiday gatherings but could never afford them. A teacher was thrilled to find a box full of craft supplies she could bring to her students. It was such a display of gratitude and an atmosphere of fun that soon I was going into the house to find more things to put out!
That’s when it hit me. I could just give these good, but unneeded things away — joyfully, with no haggling, no worrying about donation receipts for taxes.
One guy hauled away two lamps and someone asked me if I was worried he was going to profit from them by selling them on eBay or something. I said more power to him — if it meant someone else would enjoy them and they wouldn’t end up in a Dumpster. But that did cause me to make another sign that suggested that if anyone sold my stuff, they should consider giving part of the money to a charity.
By the end of the day I had one lonely box of old LP records left over — poor Dionne Warwick, Barry Manilow and Neil Diamond. Everything else was gone.
Looking back, no amount of money I could have made from those things would have been worth as much as the joy I felt that day. I was able to simplify my life by giving stuff away, and instead of losing part of my history, I got to add new memories related to all those former possessions.
~Geri Moran
Little Free Libraries
I think of life as a good book. The further you get into it, the more it begins to make sense.
~Harold Kushner
As a professional writer, I can’t afford a lot of stuff, so I don’t buy a lot of stuff. Anyway, where would I put it? I live in a one-bedroom apartment. I acquire only what is necessary and keep only what I use. There’s no space for more.
However, I started my career submitting fiction to short story anthologies, and every time my work was published I received contributor copies of those books. After years of prolific authorship, I amassed boxes of books.
Then I read Stephen King’s On Writing and it got me thinking. He suggests editing out ten percent of whatever you write — your novel, short story, whatever it may be. Ten percent of what you’ve written is unnecessary. This may not be true for everyone, but I’d always been a wordy writer. Cuts improve content.
I started looking around my apartment and wondering if the same might be true for books themselves. It’s hard to see books as stuff — they’re so much more. There are whole other worlds inside their pages.
Even so, my bookshelf was overrun with fiction I’d purchased at library fundraisers or picked out of people’s garbage. I kept books I had read. I kept books I hadn’t read. I kept books I’d gotten bored with after the first few chapters. I’d kept every book I bought in university, some of which I’d never cracked because the professor changed the course syllabus — and some of which I’d never cracked because, let’s face it, I wasn’t the world’s greatest student.
So, in addition to multiple copies of anthologies that featured my writing, I owned shelves of books I didn’t “need,” in the strictest sense of the word. Though I’d managed to pare the rest of my life down to just the essentials, I had this ever-growing mountain of books around me.
But that made sense… because I was a writer. Right?
I knew I could donate books to the local library and they would sell them to people like me, so I put together a big bag
. I felt pretty darn good about myself because proceeds would help fund the library’s important programming. Although, at a dollar a pop, my books were barely a drop in the ocean.
At Christmas, I gave my books as gifts. Friends and family always asked to read my writing, so it seemed like a good idea. Turns out most people consider a book you wrote yourself to be a bit of a cop-out, as a gift — somewhere between self-promotion and free shampoo samples. My grandmother’s always happy to receive a book I contributed to, but everyone else seems to prefer homemade jam.
Books kept rolling in — wonderful for my writing career, not so wonderful for my tiny apartment.
And then one day, while walking home from my local community centre, I spotted a tiny house on someone’s front lawn. It was propped up on wooden post, which made it look somewhat like a birdhouse, but right at eye level and right next to the sidewalk.
Instead of birdseed, the tiny house contained books.
It was a Little Free Library: an adorable structure with flowers painted on both sides and a Plexiglas front door that swung open to reveal a world of reading. “Take a book. Return a book.” That’s what the sign said. No library card necessary. No late fees.
It was for anyone. It was for everyone.
Just a sweet little home for books, continuously stocked by members of the community.
“Hey,” I thought. “I’m a member of the community. Why don’t I contribute?”
As soon as I got home, I opened my big boxes of books and selected a few I thought the neighbours might like. The next day, I walked back to the Little Free Library. I’d only gone there to contribute content, but I spotted a novel by an author I’d been meaning to read for years. I came away with a book to devour and return — one that wouldn’t add to the clutter of my overstuffed bookshelf.
As the months went by, Little Free Libraries sprang up like flowers across the city. Everywhere I went, I seemed to stumble across one. I started carrying books with me so I’d always have something to contribute.
