Clothing room update -- another great reuse centre

The clothing room at the Distribution Centre for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul (the small chapel on the corner of 108th Avenue and 109th Street, just outside St. Joe's High School) has gone through a major upgrade since I was last there in February. Over the last 8 months my mom kept me up to date on my favourite folks who come to the Centre, and on the SSVP's reno plans and progress. Yesterday, for the first time since Shadow-puppy joined our family, I went to volunteer (after taking him for a long walk) and to see the "new" place.

Here's a view of the tiny bit of floor space where clothing for men, women and children used to be displayed:

(You can't see the second crowded aisle on the other side of the housecoats...)

And below, the cramped room where volunteers unpacked donated clothing.

Over the last several months, furniture and large items were moved to another building to facilitate the reorganization and renos, and some generous people donated a hefty sum that was used to brighten the entire space, rearrange the different "departments" somewhat, and enlarge the clothing area. Old walls were removed and new walls added, different sections were moved around (I'm not sure where the repair workstation went -- forgot to ask) and the whole place received a fresh coat of paint and new lighting.

The renovations are a vast improvement.The new and improved Terry Mahon Clothing Room (named for the son/brother of our generous donors) feels four times the size of the old space, which has now been transformed -- the small space where shoppers had to climb over each other to get clothing items for men, women and children is only one of three larger "shopping" areas. The old space is now just the women's section...

Look at those nice wide aisles!

A well-lit, full-sized men's section fills the space where 

walls and shelving units once were (back then, the men's "department" 

-- though you could hardly call two shelves and two racks a department -- 

had been squished against one wall and into a dark corner of the old space):

I love the bright new area where kids and babies clothing, books 

and toys are displayed... there's even a live plant! 

The ceiling is high, making the air circulation much better 

than it used to be... and the lighting is vastly improved!

We also have room to move as volunteers, 

with a long high table for unpacking donations 

and lots of shelving with bins for storing extra items 

so that we don't run short of things so often.

The City of Edmonton has an excellent Reuse Centre, but this non-city-affiliated one is my hands-down favourite, mainly because of all the people with "hearts for the poor" who work here, and all our homeless friends who visit. Saving stuff from the landfill isn't as important to us as helping people in need, but I'm sure the City's Waste Management Services would be impressed with our efforts to reuse, recycle, and reduce the stuff that goes to the landfill! 

Thanks to the Mahon family for their generosity, and congratulations to Daryl D. and all the volunteers who renovated and reorganized this place to better serve our brothers and sisters in need, especially Louise and my mom, who put things in their proper places. 

"Well done, good and faithful servants!" 

A Sunday tour of St. Vincent de Paul's place

My head still spins in places where there's a lot of visual stimulation, so it's been six months since my last Thursday volunteering stint in the Clothing Room. But last week, I decided to bite the bullet and take my dizzy self back to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul's Distribution Centre for the day. My mom has kept me up to date on my favourite homeless friends and some friend volunteers, but enough was enough, already. I wanted to see them all for myself, so Thursday I decided to give it a go. 

It was good to be back... and returning after being away for six months only underlined what an amazing place it is. Run entirely by volunteers, it helps a lot of our less fortunate brothers and sisters by supplying them with the basics -- clothing, bedding, housewares, and even food. I took my camera along with me so I could give you a tour of the place.

If you've ever noticed the little chapel on the corner near St. Joseph's High School 

on 109th Street and wondered if it's in use, I can assure you that it is.

This sign goes out, Monday to Friday, welcoming people 

to the Clothing Room, where they can get 

donated clothing for free.

In the chapel's foyer is the Clothing Room.

Seasonal jackets and boots to the right, fairly well stocked at the moment.

There are just two aisles like this one, so you can imagine 

how crowded it can get when lots of people show up at the same time
(our record is 42 clients plus some spouses and a child or five in two hours).

This is the ladies and children's section. 

I didn't get a good picture of the "men's department."

The baby items are right beside the registration desk. 

We ask our clients to register so we can be sure that they don't 

come more than once a month... but I like the registration process 

simply because it allows me to call people by name. 

Homeless visitors get special consideration and 

can come more frequently if they need to,
as most of them don't abuse the privilege.

To the left of the desk we have purses, shoes, books and school supplies. 

That's a box of shirts I unpacked, which came from 

behind the bookshelves, where you'll find...

our sorting room. The black garbage bags piled to the ceiling are this 

week's donations from a couple of clothing drives.
We work our way through them, hanging 

the items our clients need, and sharing the ones they don't 

with the Marian Centre and other agencies that can make use of them.

The clothing room is under the choir loft in the chapel. 

The rest of the Distribution Centre is in the nave.

Here's what you see from the choir loft!

The choir loft itself is crammed with all sorts of different things.

I see we've been busy collecting fans for apartment dwelling

clients in the hot summer months. And below is our toy department.

The rest of the Distribution Centre stores household needs like...

beds and bedding,

housewares,

furniture (not much available at the moment),

and small appliances that are carefully tested by volunteers. 

Everything that comes into the place is checked over and deemed 

worthy before being packed up and delivered to clients who have been

visited by a pair of volunteers in order to determine what is needed.

Below are some orders waiting to go out.

And here's the food bank for those times when even hampers from the

official City Food Bank don't stretch quite far enough...

SSVP is an amazing organization. Returning to the Distribution Centre made me so happy. It's a place of which I'm very proud... can you tell? We volunteers make lots of jokes about getting paid double for what we do some days, but honestly, I think we get more than our money's worth in the clients we meet and the joy we receive from them. And the planet benefits too, because we're saving good stuff from the landfill, and giving it to people who need it. Everyone wins. So if you're looking for a great cause to give some of your time, talent and treasure, consider volunteering and donating to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. And keep in mind that it's not just a Catholic thing... everyone who cares about our less fortunate brothers and sisters is welcome anytime. If there's no SSVP near you, there are probably other agencies/groups that would be glad of your assistance!

The folks who volunteer at SSVP take the words of Isaiah seriously:

If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
if you offer food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom will be like the noonday.
The Lord will guide you continually,
and satisfy your needs in parched places
and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
like a spring of water
whose waters never fail.
Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many nations,
you shall be called the repairer of broken walls,
the restorer of streets to live in.

Till the day was done, I was pretty dizzy, but I was very glad to be back. SSVP is in my soul permanently now, and a wee exchange I had with a homeless fellow reminded me why I like being there so much, even in my dizziness. I asked Walter how he was doing when he came in, and he said, "I woke up with a heartbeat, so I'm pretty good."

Me too! We have so much for which to be grateful!

Simple Suggestion #108... Naturalize your wardrobe

Working at the Clothing Room at the Society of St. Vincent de Paul's distribution centre, we see a lot of clothing donations... some of which we put out for clients to access, some of which we send to other agencies, and some that goes into the round filing cabinet because it's no longer fit to wear (why people donate their paint shirts or torn jeans is beyond me. Do they really think we'll have time to clean/fix their stuff if they don't?) And we perpetually ask: what should we do with these outdated, out of style, often polyester outfits that may never come back into fashion? Does polyester ever break down?

I haven't actually been to the Clothing Room since my dizziness began three months ago, and I'm really missing it, my volunteer friends and the folks who come in to get clothes and kibbitz with us. It's been on my mind more than usual lately, because I have a few clothing items that my girls have outgrown that I could take for the sometimes empty racks there. And I'm thinking about it today because of the many bags of clothes I've unpacked there over the last few years that have given me a definite bias about my own wardrobe.

After sorting through bags and bags of some blessed deceased old lady or gentleman's clothing, and reflecting on what they left behind and how their offspring couldn't bear to send it to the dump, I've decided that I want, as much as possible, to live in natural fibres. For one thing, they breathe better, and for another, when they get to the end of their lives (or mine), if they end up in a landfill, they will biodegrade in a way that polyester and other artificial fibres don't. As for leather... it's not a great choice because of the toxins required to process it into something wearable. Of course, these days, almost everything we wear is processed in one way or another, so it takes a bit of extra effort to find wool, cotton, hemp, and other natural fibres that aren't chemically treated in ways that wreck our environment at their beginnings, or aren't made by people in poor working conditions. But if we can find it, clothing manufactured using sustainable, people-friendly methods is often of such good quality that it lasts longer than the unsustainably made equivalents, if you can even call them equivalents.

I've spent part of my afternoon today looking at clothing on sustainable clothing websites like www.globalgirlfriend.com and www.commonthreadz.com... and realize that 1) there aren't a lot of Canadian retailers for sustainable clothing, and 2) the so-called eco-boutiques are way out of my price range! But there are other options... like buying natural fibre clothing second hand instead of creating consumer demand for new items, or going to the big Fashion Clothing Swap that will be part of the Metropolis Winter Festival in Sir Winston Churchill Square on February 17th from 7 to 10 pm. There's also a "Handmade Mafia Market" happening that evening, and from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on February 18th. If it's a way to refresh my wardrobe in a sustainable way, it's worth the trip in my books!

Or... maybe my wardrobe is just fine the way it is, and I don't NEED to go shopping at all. Yup. I think that's probably true.

P.S. Looking for more Simple Suggestions? Try here.

St. Vincent de Paul and the mystery of the missing radios

Yesterday was the "heavenly birthday" of one of my favourite saints, St. Vincent de Paul. What's not to love about a guy who was captured by pirates and lived to tell the tale? He also lived to the ripe old age of 79, wrote thousands of letters, looked after the poor of Paris, and started numerous schools and orphanages during and after the thirty year's war in France. Legend has it that he subbed in for a galley slave (you remember, the guys chained to the oars in movies like Ben Hur?) so he could go home and visit his family for a few days. He's also the man responsible for the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, with which I volunteer every Thursday that I'm able.

Last night there was a special gathering of volunteers to celebrate the feast day of St. Vincent, and I was "commissioned" to continue in my work in the Clothing Room, after having worked there for at least four years. I've lost track of how long I've been sorting clothes and chatting with our clients, but it has been an education for middle-class me. The most important thing I've learned is something that the Archbishop touched on in his sermon last night -- that people need to be seen, recognized and appreciated for who they are. And when we take time to see, recognize and appreciate the poor, a small but priceless bond is formed that is hard to explain unless you've experienced it. All I can say is that the poor I meet at the Clothing Room have given me far more than I've ever given them.

I appreciate my time at the Clothing Room because it is full of humour and camaraderie. Whether it's the volunteers I'm working with, or the groups of homeless guys who bring their friends to visit, there's a lot of hope and joy even as people are going through hard times. We all do what we can to help each other, whether it's handing out dry socks or a few words of encouragement... or puzzling over the case of the missing radio.

Last week at the Clothing Room, I went to turn on our background music, and the radio wasn't there. I had to chuckle. It's not the first time this has happened; our radios seem to go missing on a regular basis. Not that they are special, desirable or valuable -- we get them from SSVP's small appliance department so that we have music to listen to as we sort clothing. We usually pick the oldest or ugliest one that has been donated to make it less of a target.

What was funny was that this time, the radio was really ugly, it didn't have very good sound, and it had been attached to the counter it was sitting on with cable that had been nailed down, where it had stayed for over a month. It was such a sad-looking thing that I thought we had finally found one that no one could possibly be induced to steal.

I was wrong. How or when it vanished, or on whose watch, no one can guess. My writer's mind would love to tell the stories of the people/person who manages to lift a radio in the middle of room full of "free shoppers." Do they create a diversion and sneak it away when we're otherwise involved? Do they need the radio, or are they just pulling one over on us? What do they do with the radio? Do they realize that we would give them one for free if they just asked? It would almost be interesting to install a little spy cam to track our radios, but really, they're not that important, just a curious mystery.

So, we asked Emile, who has been managing the Distribution Centre lately, for another radio. Our new one is a cheap plastic clock radio, and this time, determined that it will stay put, our friend Emile not only nailed it down, but also affixed it to the counter with a LOT of cellophane packing tape. If someone wants to steal it now, they'll end up with a cheap plastic STICKY radio.

I suspect, however, that stickiness won't put off a thief. This month's Reader's Digest carries an article about shoplifters, and about how many of them have a disorder which is much like an addiction. They become addicted to the adrenaline rush of stealing -- a common characteristic among people with the impulse control disorder known as kleptomania. So whoever gets our latest radio will get a real rush through foiling wire, nails, tape, a bunch of busy volunteers, and Emile. I wonder how long until this radio disappears? Not that it matters. What matters is that the Society of St. Vincent de Paul is alive and well, and is sharing donated radios and other things, just as St. Vincent himself would have were he with us now.

Simple Suggestion #58... Donate all clothing you haven't worn in the past year

I believe that whoever invented the walk-in closet should be made to wear every item in one all at once, for a week. Closets that hold too many clothes cause us to take their contents for granted and create waste. Even our 1950s closet (six feet wide, three feet deep, or 2 m x1 m -- 1 m of which is my space) can hold things that rarely get worn -- and why bother keeping rarely worn things unless I'm planning on wearing them again? And why bother buying clothes that I'm not going to wear on a regular basis?

The trick is to have just enough clothing for daily wear, and a few items for special occasions. Then, when something wears out, it's a pleasure to buy and appreciate something new. If we keep our clothing to a minimum, it becomes obvious that a walk-in closet is excessive. Maybe it could be converted into space we can use for a more enjoyable activity than storing clothes?

The beginning of the school year is a great time to donate those extra items to agencies that help the less fortunate (like the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, where I spend my Thursdays) so that our needier inner-city families can find clothing for their back-to-schoolers. They'll soon be needing winter clothing, too, so don't forget to donate the too-small snowsuits and winter boots! But please... and any clothing volunteer will echo this sentiment a thousand times... don't donate anything you or your family wouldn't wear yourself. If in doubt, throw it out!

P.S. Looking for more Simple Suggestions? Try here.

#31... Give extra possessions to people who need them

Not long after I first heard about Voluntary Simplicity, the art of living with less in order to live more abundantly, I decided it was time to take a serious look at what was in my crowded kitchen cupboards. I discovered that somehow, I owned eight sets of salt and pepper shakers. Somehow, I also had three more coffee makers than I could use, and quite a few too many coffee cups. Fortunately for me, I work as a Volunteer with the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, which provides necessities for new immigrants, the homeless, and people down on their luck. I put together three boxes of kitchen ware, took it to SSVP, and it found new homes with people who could really use it.

Most North Americans have too much stuff. I'll admit that I do, too. But more and more, the extra things in my home are going to where they are needed, and it feels good to know that they are being used and appreciated by other people rather than rarely seeing the light of day in my cupboards. Why keep things that I don't use? In the next few weeks, I plan to get into some closets and corners that haven't been looked into for a while, to see if any gently used items are hiding in places I've forgotten. It's time to clear some clutter, free up some mental and emotional space, and share a little wealth with people who need it more than my closets do!

Who can you share with in your community?

P.S. Looking for more Simple Suggestions? Try here.

Another interesting day at the Clothing Room

When I get to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul Clothing Room on Thursday mornings, I always wonder what's in store. When I opened the door yesterday, not a soul was in sight. But by morning's end, I had met more than the usual share of interesting people.

First, Patrick and Gene came in. They wanted the usual, socks and underwear. They also asked for candles, so I went and found five of the "emergency" type that we keep in our cars in Canadian winters (in case we get stranded on a highway somewhere -- candles throw a lot of heat). When I handed them over to Gene, I asked what he was going to do with them. "See," he said, "I'm gonna see in the dark. The power at our apartment got cut off." He also took a small Canada flag, so he could show his pride when the Vancouver Canucks win the Stanley Cup in hockey. "Go, Canucks!" he and Patrick cheered as they left.

While I was looking for Patrick's candles, Jamaal wandered in the wrong door of the building. One of my co-workers in the sorting area pointed at him and mouthed, "he shouldn't be in here," so I steered Jamaal to the clothing room. Turned out Jamaal couldn't speak English. He pulled some identification out of his wallet and handed it to me, then pulled out his cell phone and shouted into it for a few moments. I wrote his information on a card, gave back his I.D., and went back to sorting clothes until Jamaal handed me his cell. A deep voice on the other end laughed and said, "You've met my friend Jamaal. He doesn't speak English, but he needs clothes. Is it okay for him to shop today?" When I said yes, the man thanked me and hung up. Jamaal was already shopping somewhere, unconcerned about his phone, which I returned to him.

Jamaal shopped the entire morning, and when I signalled to him that it was time to go by pointing at my watch, he came and kissed my hand, then gestured to me, and to heaven, which I think meant he was thanking Allah. Then he started speaking to me in Arabic, I suspect, but I couldn't understand what he was asking me. So finally he whipped out his cell phone again, yelled into it for a few moments, then handed it to me. The same deep voice as before laughed and said, "Jamaal wants to know if you've ever been to Syria or Iran." I laughed too, because Jamaal had gone back to shopping and didn't seem the least bit interested in the answer to his question. As he left, I learned that he knows two English words: Thank you.

I didn't have as much difficulty communicating with a couple from Slave Lake. Their neighbourhood was levelled by the fire that burned about a third of the town on May15th. They escaped with the clothes on their back. The fellow was telling me that he'd stayed behind to help fight the fire, and when he finished his shift, he was allowed to see what had happened in his neighbourhood. He missed his own driveway because all his usual landmarks were gone. And so is his wedding band, he told me ruefully. He and his wife volunteered with SSVP in the past, and looked us up so that they'd have a bit more than just the clothes on their backs.

People at the Clothing Room always remind me how important it is to care about each other, for caring's sake, and because you never know when it might be your turn to be down on your luck.

A prayer to start our day at the Clothing Room

Today is my day at the Society of St. Vincent de Paul Clothing Room. For various reasons, I missed a month of my Thursdays there, and going back last week felt like a homecoming. I forgot how much I love kibbitzing with the homeless guys until we were kibbitzing. And, a new thing: our little group of volunteers started the day with a beautiful prayer. I couldn't see through the tears in my eyes by the time we got to the end of it:

Lord Jesus, You promised that whatever we do for the least of your brothers & sisters, we do it for You. You promised that whenever we reach out to the poor and needy, to the hungry, the imprisoned, the unwanted, the misunderstood, or the lonely, we meet You.

Lord Jesus, Your humility amazes me. Rather than coming to us in great displays of power & might, you choose to show us Your face in the poor, the sick, and the outcast.  Open my eyes to see You. Help me to recognise your presence in every person in need, whether it’s the people coming for help, or the friends I work with. Give me the courage to step out of my comfort zone, and to be the person You need me to be in every situation I may face today.

Lord, today help me to be Your hands & feet, Your compassion & joy. I want to become like You! 


Amen.

And this morning, the scriptures align -- my morning meditation is the reading from Matthew 25:

Then the King will say to those at his right hand, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me."

Amazing how that works, isn't it?

4:30 p.m. It was an interesting day at the Clothing Room. I didn't think we'd have very many people as Edmonton is experiencing an April snowstorm that blew snow into my face as I walked from where I parked two blocks away from the centre. If I couldn't find parking, how many others wouldn't bother to come? But Don and Ryan, a pair of homeless brothers, showed up for the second week in a row, snow thick in their hair. I told Ryan I wanted to brush the wet clods of snow out of his hair, so he stood still and let me do it before picking up a hoodie so he wouldn't have to repeat the process later on.


We had fun with "name that odd object." A black, curved wire stand of some sort was found in the odds and ends box, and I took it around the Distribution Centre to see if anyone could figure it out. No one did, and now I'm wishing I'd brought it home, taken a picture, and played "name that odd object" online. Someone must have a website where you can send pictures of odd objects.


Four young Muslim girls came in, and were delighted to leave with four beautiful stuffed animals as well as some clothing. And just before we closed at noon, two Ethiopian boys came looking for swimming trunks. Their English wasn't great, but their smiles certainly were. They each found one t-shirt, and thanked me politely before they left.


Denis came in, asking in French if it would be alright if he "shopped." I suprised him and myself by responding in French, and he seemed genuinely happy that I did, even though his English is excellent.


And a bit of a mystery was partially solved today. In September I moodled about it:

Then there are the four sisters. They seem to alternate their visits, coming in pairs every two weeks, going through our racks and picking out the high quality ladies wear, mostly. They have each registered with four or more children, and we wonder: are they supplying their families and running their own clothing shop on the side, or are they outfitting friends and neighbours as well? Perhaps they don’t have access to laundry facilities? Their English isn’t good enough for us to know.

Today I decided to approach one of the sisters and ask her why she takes so much clothing so often. Her eyes filled with tears as she haltingly told me about her brother, who lives in the mountains in Cambodia. "No food, no clothes, my brother and his family. I take clothes to send." It doesn't help me to understand why they go for the high end women's clothing, but it makes me less inclined to fret when they take more than I think they should. I really don't know the full situation.

It was an interesting day, a good day. Any day that I understand people a little better might even be rated excellent. I don't think I need to wait until the King decides whether I'm a sheep or a goat. I'm already blessed just to know the people I met today.

Family reunion at the clothing room

This morning, Patrick arrived at the clothing room staggering drunk, with a swollen black eye. I didn't recognize him at first. He stood and looked at me for a while, seemingly trying to focus his eyes and form words. Thinking he might need some assistance, I went to him and touched his arm, asking if there was anything I could help him with.

Wrong move. "Back off," he said. So I went back around my work desk and continued to sort donated clothes, afraid that he might teeter over and bang his other eye on the corner of the desk.

A woman who had brought her two daughters to get clothing for their kids was sitting in the chair across from where I was working. Patrick's swollen eye didn't prevent her from knowing who he was. "Patrick, Bro, what happened to your face?" she asked gently.

"Ah, Sis," he said, "three guys beat me up. I just want to go back to camp and go to sleep. It's been a rough day at the office."

The next thing I knew, the woman was introducing her daughters to Patrick as he stood swaying on his feet, and the girls seemed to know him. That's when I realized that they might be related, but then again, maybe not. The older daughter offered Patrick a cigarette, and the younger one gave him a hug that brought tears to his eyes (and mine).

With those kindnesses, Patrick's defenses crumpled. He turned to me and was able to ask for blankets, socks and a pair of gloves. I managed to find them for him and put them into a bag he could carry. "Thanks, Sis," he said, having long since forgotten his initial annoyance with me.

It has struck me more than once that in the clothing room we're all brothers and sisters -- like we should be everywhere in life.

Mr. NoName

Last week at the Society of St. Vincent de Paul clothing room, two homeless guys came in and asked for gloves because they had gotten jobs shoveling snow. It was their lucky day, as there were two brand new pairs of sheepskin-lined deerhide mitts in our bin. The guys were congratulating each other when they headed out the door and another man arrived. Unlike most clients, he didn't "register" as he came in, but began looking around, fingering things, and putting me off when I asked for his name so I could pull his card from our client file. He asked for a pair of those nice gloves his "buddies" just left with (if they were his buddies, why didn't he greet them at the door?) because he was working with them, he said, but I told him they got the only two pairs. He seemed a little shifty, so I followed him around a bit, listening to him talk about himself, asking for his name so I could register him. He kept evading the issue, not making eye contact.

We were having a fairly friendly chat about various paperback novels on the bookshelf when three new clients showed up. My attention was diverted from the fellow for a time as I registered the women, writing their names, addresses and phone numbers on file cards (mostly so we can be sure people aren't "shopping" too frequently). Then I walked to the men's aisle where my evasive friend had gone and said, "I really need to register you now, because that's how we keep track of the people we serve."

"I have to get going," he said. "It's too crowded to shop right now anyway." He pushed past me and went out the front door, ignoring my protests. The women who had just registered said, "What a rude guy!"  "Some people!" "It's not that crowded -- we're the only ones here." I muttered, "Next time you come back, buddy, no name, no shopping!" and the three laughed.

Guess who was back today? I didn't actually see Mr. NoName come in, but I heard his voice. He was talking to my mom about getting some food, so I walked over and stood there, listening, letting him know that I was aware of his arrival. When my mom said, "I don't think you registered when you came in, so we need to do that before you go any further," she got the same response as I did last week. "I have to get going," he said, and took off. Mom wasn't surprised when I told her about his visit the previous week. She thought he probably snuck past me and made a beeline to talk with her because they had no previous history.

I can't help but wonder why the fellow won't give us his name. He's got me curious, and my writer's mind has been mulling all afternoon, inventing different scenarios. Could he be an escaped con, afraid that we might somehow turn him in? Is he a shoplifter who gets his thrills from taking things without permission (even if they're free)? Or is he simply someone who enjoys playing outside the rules, snubbing the system? Does he tell a different story to a different volunteer at a different agency every day of the week? Does he enjoy thumbing his nose at authority of any sort? Could he have some form of mental illness that makes him paranoid? Or has he just had the kind of life that prevents him from trusting anyone?

I doubt we'll ever know, but it's guys like him who make life interesting. For a few minutes, they mess with my sense of everyone being basically honest and loveable, of life being mostly good, of the world being a generally gentle place. It's only too easy to worry or get disheartened when I think about the many people in our world who, for whatever reason, are unable to trust anyone. But even if our nameless friend registers the next time he comes in, we have no way of knowing whether he's telling us the truth, so does his telling us his name really matter in the long run?

I wouldn't want to pass any sort of judgment, I just would love to know the truth about him, being a curious person. But truth can be elusive, as is Mr. NoName.

Gifts from a blind man

James came to the Society of St. Vincent de Paul clothing room today. Every time he comes in, he's wearing a huge smile, and he tells me, "It's just another day in paradise." Today he tacked on, "except a little colder." I commented on his wonderful furry earflap cap, and he smiled even bigger, saying, "You guys gave it to me."

When he was in two weeks ago, James got a thermal undershirt that was too small. He told me he gave it to someone else because it didn't reach his belly button, and he asked for a size bigger this time. He also wanted a warm long-sleeved button down shirt, and a pair of gloves because some idiot at the bus stop stole his when he "wasn't looking."

James is mostly blind. He has one glass eye, and 2% vision in his other eye, peripheral vision. He looked at me by not looking at me. After I helped him find what he needed, he stood and chatted for a while. Eventually, he pulled out a small, well-used paperback New Testament, flipped to a passage inked in yellow highlighter, and said, "read that."

I have learned how to be content with whatever I have. I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little. For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength. Even so, you have done well to share with me in my present difficulty.    (Philippians 4. 11b-14)

If that wasn't enough, he "read" me the beginning of the 9th chapter of John's Gospel in his scratchy, husky voice. Of course, he has it memorized:

As [Jesus] passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him."     (John 9. 1-3)

"And that's me," James said.

Amen, brother. God shines in James' cheerful dispostion. I wonder if he saw the tears in my eyes.

Christmas decorations...

Yesterday was an enjoyable day at the clothing room. Two of my favourites came in -- Dave, a homeless guy who is always losing his backpack (and once took a Spiderman backpack because it was all we had to offer), and Fatuma, a tiny Kenyan woman who once told me, "Canada, good for children. Good education. No good for adults. I sad, sad. Miss home, no good work here." But Fatuma was in good spirits yesterday, and looking for some Christmas decorations. We managed to find two little twinkle light strings in the bottom of a box to satisfy her.

I couldn't help but think of the Amazing Grace YouTube video that went around a few years ago. Maybe you saw it, but if not, punch "Amazing Grace Christmas Lights" into the YouTube search box, and I'm sure it will come up. I won't post it here because, frankly, it makes me shudder to think that people would invest that kind of time and money into a totally ostentatious Christmas display when there are people like Fatuma in our world. Some Christmas decoration is fine, but that? I certainly wouldn't want to live across the street from so much technopop and so many flashing lights. My neighbours and I would vote the guy off the island!

The thing about Christmas decoration is that so much of it is needless use of our planet's limited resources, and a lot of it will just end up in the landfill over time. Tinsel, broken baubles and shorting strings of lights aren't easily recyclable (though our reuse/recycling facilities here in Edmonton are second to none), so it's better to avoid an excess of shiny, once-a-year trinkets to start with. What will the family of the guy who did up the Amazing Grace display do with all that stuff when he dies? The cost of his electricity alone must be astronomical... and unless his kids follow in his footsteps, I doubt they'll want to deal with the thousands of lights left to them in his will.

At our house, decoration is kept to a definite dull roar. We have a white silhouette window display of the Holy Family and a string of LED lights as our visible outside decoration. Indoors, I hang Christmas cards that arrive in the mail around our dining room doorways, and our Advent wreath (with small branches cut from the cedar outside our front door) is our table centrepiece. We buy one tree (carbon neutral -- it has produced oxygen for the planet up until it was cut, and the city grinds it up for mulch in January) -- artificial trees use up a lot of carbon in their manufacturing process and they take forever to biodegrade (but if you have one, don't switch now!) We decorate with the same ornaments year after year, special things that the kids have made at school or friends have given to us. Our tree isn't trendy teal streamers with gilded golden glamour a la Martha Stewart or Debbie Travis, but it is pretty enough.

Enough. That word again. How much is enough decoration? Is it necessary to buy new Christmas stuff every year? Where will it all end up? If we really need to decorate, can we do more with the natural, organic items around us?

I'll end this moodling with an idea I'm trying this year for the first time: a German friend of mine once told me that on St. Barbara's feast day, December 4th, it was tradition for peasants to cut a few branches from any fruit trees in their area. They would bring them into their homes and put them in water, and by December 25th, the blossoms would fill their homes with beauty and fragrance to mark Jesus' birth.

I'll bet Fatuma from Kenya would approve.

Have a happy feast day tomorrow, Auntie Barbara!

Christmas giving... all year round

Today is my day to work at the clothing room of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. It's actually a 500 sq foot foyer in a tiny former chapel next to St. Joseph's High School here in Edmonton (the nave is where we store donated furniture and household items that we can deliver to those in need). The clothing room offers free clothing items to newcomers, people living below the poverty line, the homeless... anyone, really, but we exist mainly to help those who can't afford to shop for the basics (see here.)

Often when we get to these dark December days, we find ourselves struggling to keep up with the demand for almost everything winter-wear related, but especially men's and boys' clothing, specifically long underwear and socks. And I'm sure there are many other charitable agencies who are lacking specific necessities on any date you care to choose.

So here's the challenge: if you have a life of "enough" (or perhaps a bit too much), choose a charity in your neighbourhood and give them a call. Find out what they need, and do a little Christmas shopping for them. And consider doing it in January and February, too, when the Christmas giving campaigns are no longer in the news, or maybe even July and August. Again, better than investing in an ugly tie or a box of chocolates!

Henry

One of our homeless guys came into the clothing room last week on our first really snowy day, feeling cold, cold, cold. "I was having such a good sleep," Henry said, "and then the wind blew all the snow over me and my blankets." I suspect that he woke up and downed whatever alcohol he had left before trudging from his "camp" to us.

"I just want to warm up," he said. "I almost froze to death." He sat on a chair in the middle of the clothing room hubbub, rubbing his hands together, asking for a sleeping bag, long underwear (which we'd run out of) and gloves, and that's when I noticed that he's missing his little finger on one hand. Did he lose it to frostbite another winter? I wondered.

After thawing out for a while, Henry pulled a thin leather wallet from his pocket, and handed me its only contents -- a piece of paper. He asked if I would do him the favour of phoning his sister, who would take him away from the city for the winter. I made the call, but there was only a voicemail response, and I didn't know what message to leave. I took the paper back to Henry, and he asked me to call the three other phone numbers on the same piece of paper, though he couldn't remember the names associated with all the numbers. He was getting desperate, so I tried each number, but had no luck at reaching anyone.

When I took the paper back to him, Henry was warm and falling asleep in his seat. I tried to encourage him to go elsewhere, as we were about to close for the day, but he became angry because he just wanted to sleep, and he had no place to go. "Call the cops," he finally shouted. It was an uncomfortable place to be, not having any helpful suggestions for him. I don't know enough about inner city agencies or how homeless people survive winter here. I suspect they rely a lot on each other and the shelters, but it was still too early for the shelters to be open. In the end, another not-quite-so-down-on-his-luck fellow, God bless him, volunteered to take Henry to the Spadey Centre, and away they went together to the guy's car, Henry gripping the guy's arm and staggering along.

Last week, an Edmonton Journal newspaper article reported that there are 2400 homeless people in our city, a decrease of 21% since 2008. While I'm glad that there are 700 fewer people sleeping on the streets, that's still 2400 too many in an affluent city like ours. We don't need Daryl Katz's plans for a new hockey arena for millionaire hockey players and their wealthy patrons to enjoy. We need more successful programs like Housing First, which operates through the Jasper Place Health and Wellness Centre, offering low cost housing to homeless people, giving them a place to start to pull their fractured lives together. In the last four years, Housing First has had a 94% success rate and has housed 350 people. Much of the reported 21% decrease in homelessness is thanks to Housing First and the people there who saw a need and made things work for some of our poor and underemployed brothers and sisters. For more about the program, here's a link:

http://www.jphawc.ca/jphousing.htm

At times I wonder about working at the clothing room, and whether I am not part of the broken system, enabling people like Henry to keep on making poor choices. I guess that until there are more organizations like Housing First, someone needs to offer Henry a place to warm up, a few basic supplies, and a listening ear.

It's brutally cold here this morning. I wonder where our homeless people are. I wonder where Henry is. I sure hope he's warm.

The one who dies with the most toys... has missed the point

Honestly, there should be a moratorium on stuffed animals in this world. The reason I say this is because my children, like most North American kids, have each been given more stuffies than any single child could love, enough to supply a village of kids in the developing world. Lately, when I walk into Julia's room, I've been tripping over animals. She's gathered a group of bears, ponies, kittens, puppies, seals, owls, and various and sundry others onto her bed, and they inevitably overflow onto the floor for me to step on and curse in the dark.

At the Society of St. Vincent de Paul where I volunteer on Thursdays, it isn't much better. We have a tiny space where we display necessities for our clients, and one big shelf and two fairly large bins are always full of cuddly critters, with another special bin of soft little characters whose eyes and noses won't come off to choke baby. One of our homeless ladies always takes a large teddy bear if she can; maybe it keeps her warm? In our small storage area upstairs, there are bags and bags of stuffed animals tucked in with all sorts of other toys that have been donated by families whose children have outgrown them.

When you really think about how many toys the average child has these days, it seems pretty ridiculous in comparison to how many toys my mom had, or even how much I grew up with. Today's parents have been sold a huge bill of goods by toy manufacturers who have convinced us that, in order to develop properly, children need objects to stimulate their intellects, imaginations, and physical abilities. And I'm as guilty of buying too many toys as the next parent.

My least favourite toy purchase? The little "kitchen" we bought when Christina was three and Suzanna just a baby. I look at it now and recognize that, though I had two little girls (and one more to come) who would get a lot of use out of it, really, I bought it for myself. As a child, I always wished for a toy kitchen like that because some of my friends had them, but my family couldn't afford such things. But my girls wouldn't be so deprived! Of course, their pink plastic toy (that now gathers dust in the corner of the basement) didn't offer as much play value as the cardboard kitchen creation my sisters and I built out of a packing box. And ours was biodegradable!

The reason I'm thinking about toys today is because of a few email exchanges with a friend. She and her family returned just last weekend from eight months in Ghana, and are finding, after living with just the basics in Accra, that their home here is more cluttered than they would like. They would prefer to live more with less stuff. And it's no wonder -- while there, her kids played the way kids without storebought toys play -- happily, with their friends and their imaginations. A less cluttered life leaves more room for creativity, it seems. Sometimes I wonder if the reason so many kids these days complain of boredom is because toy manufacturers leave so little to the imagination. Maybe it's because some kids have so many toys, they have to spend a lot of time keeping them in order? Or too much stuff leaves no room to play?

My favourite toy purchase? The one that's had the most staying power -- those little Danish snap-together blocks that can be "a new toy every day." But even with them, you can't pick up a jumble of assorted Legos anymore unless you go to a garage sale as soon as it opens -- now the company sells sets so you can build a specific item. Fortunately for us, our girls have never bothered with building to the manufacturer's specifications, choosing instead to use their jumbled-together kits to create incredibly intricate homes for little Lego people, or structures that use every single block and look like temples from another world.

What's most telling about the most and least favourite toys I've mentioned is that, at the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, we can't keep things like Legos in stock. Creative toys are usually the first to go, long before highly manufactured items like pink plastic play kitchens. As far as I can tell, the bumper sticker that proclaims as winner the one who "collects the most toys" misses the point altogether. The winner is the one who has the most fun using his or her imagination. And biodegradable is always better, too!

The luxury of choice?

This morning at the SSVP clothing room, as I was unpacking a bag of donated women's clothing, Henry, one of our homeless guys, came and asked me for some toothpaste. One thing I've learned about the homeless is that they don't ask for much because they don't want to have to carry unnecessary stuff around with them (for example, Henry also asked if he could come back when it gets cold, because he doesn't actually need a winter coat until then). I know that when Henry asks for a tube of toothpaste, he really needs it, so I went back to the room where the toiletries are kept and stood in front of the toothpaste shelf for a minute, wondering what kind of toothpaste Henry might like. Colgate Total with Whitening? Crest Anti-plaque? Sensodyne Fresh Mint? Aquafresh Extreme Clean? Aware that Henry was waiting for me, I closed my eyes and grabbed a box. When I returned and handed it to him, he didn't even look at it. "Thanks," he said, and headed out the door.

I went back to my unpacking, finding six identical shirts in six different colours, two still bearing their sales tags, and I wondered about whether it really is a luxury to have to pick from among so many brands of toothpaste, and so many colours of clothing.

The forgiveness of the poor

You will find out that Charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the kettle of soup and the full basket. But you will keep your gentleness and your smile.  It is not enough to give soup and bread. This the rich can do. You are the servant of the poor, always smiling and good-humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting masters, you will see, and the uglier and the dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them.

These words are attributed to St. Vincent de Paul, a man who spent his life serving the poor. I'm one of his unofficial disciples one day a week. I help out in the clothing room at the Distribution Centre of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul (SSVP) on Thursdays, sorting clothes, signing in "shoppers," and offering assistance to those who come to look for free clothing.

The Society of St. Vincent de Paul has been operating in Edmonton for about ten years. Comprised of a group of volunteers coming mainly from conferences operating out of different Catholic parishes across the city, the Society’s priority is to assist those living below the poverty line by providing basic necessities for life. People in need can call the Society’s hotline, and volunteers pay a visit to determine what is required by the individual or family. Furniture, appliances, food and clothing are gathered from donations received at the Distribution Centre, and are delivered to people who require assistance. Because clothing is usually an issue of personal preference, the 500 sq ft clothing room operates Monday to Saturday from ten to noon.

Life in the clothing room never fails to be interesting. All different kinds of people come in to "shop without paying," everyone from homeless Dave, who tells me he sleeps in the bushes somewhere in the river valley, to a few well-dressed women from Sherwood Park who heard there was “free shopping” and came to see if they could pick up some toys or games for their grandchildren for nothing (we tried to explain to them that our mission is to help the truly needy, but they wouldn't listen, they were so focused on the "bargains!") We meet a lot of immigrants who are experiencing their first winter in Canada and need warm clothing. One family from Mexico had to be encouraged to only take one winter coat per person – they were under the impression that once winter arrived, they would need several heavy layers each.

Often, people who come to the clothing room are looking for specific items. Ted, another homeless fellow, came to me one day asking for a pair of men’s jeans, size 34. To say that he was grateful when I managed to find him a pair is an understatement. There was a young woman looking at baby clothes at the opposite end of the room, but Ted said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll put these on right now.” He hid behind a clothing rack and emerged a minute later, emptying stubby cigarettes from the pockets of his old jeans as he handed them to me. “If you give these a wash,” he said, “someone else might like them.” As I folded them over my arm to take them to the laundry bin, thirty-nine cents in change jingled to the floor. I picked it up to give it back to Ted, and he took it and slipped it into our donations box. “For the poor,” he said.

Tanya came in once, telling me how she had been evicted from her apartment because she had fallen ill and couldn’t work to pay rent. Just recovering from surgery, she needed new clothing so she could get back to her catering job. We found several black pants and white tops, and she took two pairs of flat shoes, saying, “I hope these don’t give me blisters.”

Then there are the four sisters. They seem to alternate their visits, coming in pairs every two weeks, going through our racks and picking out the high quality ladies wear, mostly. They have each registered with four or more children, and we wonder: are they supplying their families and running their own clothing shop on the side, or are they outfitting friends and neighbours as well? Perhaps they don’t have access to laundry facilities? Their English isn’t good enough for us to know. Dave, the river valley homeless fellow mentioned earlier, often comes in at least once a week in the winter asking for gloves or mitts. We don’t know whether he loses them, sells them, or gives them to his drinking buddies, and we’ll never know unless he tells us, as we don’t want to be so nosey that he feels unwelcome.

Clients who come to the clothing room are asked to register, which means having a file card made up with their name, address and phone number if applicable, and the day’s date, so we can try to ensure that they don’t come in more than once every thirty days. For the homeless, we make exceptions to the 30-day rule, understanding that they have nowhere to wash clothing, but other, better-dressed customers who come in before their 30 days have passed are asked to return later so that everyone has fair access. The registration card system has its difficulties: we have caught a client or two abusing the system by posing as someone else. Today we wondered how many cards Chris has in our file. He gave me a name that I couldn't find, so I made him a new card. It took another volunteer whispering in my ear to make me realize I had made a card for him once before. Either he was taking advantage of my ignorance and hoping I wouldn't recognize him or he has a personality disorder, we half-joked at lunch. Generally, though, the people who come in are honest, and grateful for the service we provide.

At times, though, we wonder whether we are doing the right thing. Should people be given something for nothing? Are we creating another dependency? A parish priest in the inner city suggests that we should be charging a minimal fee for each item that goes out our door, but that would prove a bit of a nightmare for two volunteers faced with thirty customers who each have twenty or more items stuffed into bags, all heading out the doors of our tiny space within minutes of each other. My thought on the matter is that our storage space is often filled to the rafters with so many bags of donated clothing (a sign of Alberta's affluenza, which is a huge issue in itself!), so who are we to withhold abundance from those who need it? Christ favoured the poor throughout his ministry and did not judge them, and we try our best to follow his way... but still...

There are three things that keep me volunteering every week. The first is that the poverty line is a fine one. The family breadwinner could lose his job, a family member could fall sick, mental illness could strike, and it could be me or someone I know coming to the clothing room for assistance, or calling SSVP for help to furnish a new apartment when it’s discovered that the old one is infested with bedbugs, which are on the rise in Edmonton these days.

The second thing is the smiles and stories that our clients sometimes share. When the Kenyan woman (who seemed to have three different identities until her English improved enough for me to understand her) tells me about her life, I am more aware of our blessings in Canada, and our need to do more to help our brothers and sisters who are new immigrants.  When the homeless guys come in to kibbitz and get yet another pair of gloves or a dry pair of socks, they're sure to leave smiles behind them.

And the third thing has to do with what Vincent de Paul says in the quote above. As an affluent person with a roof over my head and more clothing and food than necessary in my closets and cupboards, I need the forgiveness of my inner-city brothers and sisters. I feel powerless and helpless to make things better for them a lot of the time. But sometimes, quite rarely, in a moment of shared humanity, I feel their forgiveness. It seems to come with their smiles.