my deep catch and release program

I am systematically going through all the stuff in my apartment, placing things I have not used in the past year into my Versacart to haul one cartload after another to Out of the Closet, for donation. Ultimately, I believe I'll be able to fill it with stuff to release several times.

Today I gave away a bike to a neighbor who had mentioned, at a community meeting in our building, that she wanted a bike. Over a year ago, I bought a cheap but brand new Target in-house-brand bike for $20 from a Mexican woman whose husband, a German, got a job in Germany right after she paid $100 for the bike. They were asking $40 and I was going to pay $40 but when I got there, I realized some cash had fallen from my backpack. At first the guy said he'd walk to a bank with me and then he said "F- it, just give us $20. We're moving to Germany in 36 hours. I just want the bike gone." Right after that, my neighbor said "I want a bike but I never manage to save up the money, my son needs things." She is Ethiopian, fyi. I immediately decided to gift her my $20 brand new bike right after I bought it but I p-r-o-c-r-a-s-t-i-n-a-t-e-d, with the bike in the way of my 510 square feet one bedroom.  I do not have an overly large living space. And I have let stuff pile up that I never use.

She was cute when I finally got it together to offer her a free bike. She wanted to pay for it. I told her I needed to gift it. Then she brings her son over to check out the bike because 'he knows a lot about bikes'. I had to suppress my strong impulses to say "what's to know about a new, free bike?" Out loud I say, "your son is welcome to check out my bike."

Whew! I made the sale. They took my free, new bike.

Why did I really give it away?  Because I am a bike snob. I'd rather have no bike than a cheaply made bike. It looks great. A high quality bike is, as bicyclists know,  much easier to ride, especially uphill.

Everywhere I look in my apartment, I see  stuff that does not fit in my cupboards or two small closets. I have just let stuff pile up. I am going through everything.

I attended a Unity church for a few years in late eighties. Our church, and, I believe, some other Unity churches, would have Circulation Day. Church members were asked to donate anything they had not used in the past year, to put it back in circulation. And then on Circulation Day, held in a large public h.s. gymnasium as part of the suburb's festival days (so we could use the gym for free), anyone could come and take whatever they wanted.  A few people used Circulation Day just to get ride of junk but, for the most part, all the stuff was good.

I spent all day every day for the week leading up to Circulation Day directing my volunteers. It is a ton of work to set up hundreds of clothing donations, hundreds of kitchen and houseware donations, etc. My kid was about five or six the year I organized Circulation Day so she was stuck, for it was summer vacation time (otherwise we couldn't use the gym, eh?!). She spotted the Big Wheel as soon as it was rolled into the gym. She rode that baby all day every day. Big Wheels, in case folks don't remember, have a clacking device on one of the rear wheels. One of my volunteers insisted on cutting off Rosie's clacker. He said he was happy to see her having fun riding that thing all over, in and out of the school halls and gym and outdoor sidewalks but he couldn't stand the noise. 

When I was going through my 'stuff' to find things to donate, I took our minister's advice dead seriously. He said to release anything we had not used within the past year.

At the time, I was sharing a home with a single mom who owned the house and her things furnished the kitchen.  My daughter and I had our furniture in our suite of rooms but we never used my microwave.  So I had not used my microwave in over a year.  I remember feeling torn about releasing the microwave. Then I caught myself fearfully thinking "I am not going to live with Mary Ellen much longer and when Rosie and I have our own place again, I will need a microwave." Then I caught myself, affirmed that if and when I needed a microwave, I'd have one. I ended up donating my microwave to the church itself, for our church kitchen had no microwave. And the one I had, selected by my ex, was gigantic. I had not wanted to own one. He gave it to me for Mother's Day the first Mother's Day after our daughter was born. I resented receiving a kitchen appliance as a gift for me.  I insisted I did not want a microwave. He insisted we have one. So okay, I argued back, but he ignored me and gave me a fucking jumbo microwave for my first mother's day. I pleaded for him to give me some flowers and just buy the microwave for the household, the family, but he overruled me, ignored my feelings.

And I'm rambling.

I have remembered those old Circulation days because when I pulled the microwave out of storage, I found a tea pot inside the microwave.  The teapot was a very cheap one that had come with a Mother's Day bouquet my mom sent me when I was a new single mom with a toddler too young to do anything for Mother's Day. It was a nice gesture from my mom. As soon as I saw that teapot, I decided to give it to Circulation Day. I had a strong instinct, however, to look inside the tea pot.

I resisted the instinct. I had never used the tea pot. Why look inside it? But my inner voice screamed her demand that I look inside. I found eight crisp $100 bills in the tea pot. My mom must have made some kind of arrangement with the florist. Or else fairies put that money in that tea pot. As a single mom, nearly always underemployed and nearly always skint, there's no way I put that $800 in a tea pot and forgot about it. $800 in the late eighties was a fortune. To me.

Yesterday, doing my private version of circulating stuff I don't actually use, I went through a bit of clutter on the surface of a small accessory table in my living room.  As I cleared away what was on that surface, and it was mostly junk mail, something shiny fell to the carpet.

I have a pair of simple, single tear drop, crystal earrings. I have owned them since the eighties.  I remember buying them. A year or more ago, I lost one. I have looked again and again to find the second one. I felt sure it would turn up. I didn't give up, I guess, for if I had given up, I would have let go of the remaining earring.  And I carefully checked on the remaining earring from time to time, almost as if to reassure the earring that its mate would be found.

I am amazed I found it.

And this is a little woo woo, but this is the second time I thought I had permanently lost one of these inexpensive earrings that I love. When I have both of them available, they are the only earrings I choose to wear. Once when I lived in Mountain View, I had lunch with a friend and a realtor she was interviewing to help her find a house down there.  Suddenly she noticed one of my earrings was missing. I stood up in the cafe, shook all my clothing, had my friend look all over my body. We all checked the floor, table top, dishes.  No earrings. A year or so later, that earrings turned up in my apartment. How did it get to my apartment if it had left my ear at that cafe downtown?  I actually showed the found earring, and its twin, to my swim friend Kay (the one hiring a realtor) and she was disbelieving that I had found it.

I love these simple earrings more and more. I think I paid $20 for them, a lot for the simple earrings that they are. $20 around 1985 was a lot for such simple earrings.  They are quality crystal but just one tear drop for each ear and a loop to dangle off my earlobe.  They are Swarovski (sp?) crystal, so nice tear drops but very simple.

Anyway, once again I have both earrings available to wear.  I missed them.

I am positive my current, private circulation drive will not yield $800. Gosh, I wish. I have need three grand for dental work that I don't have.

I am quite surprised by the deep shame I feel. I have felt very little shame in my whole life. I am ashamed, deeply deeply ashamed, that I am missing two adjacent molars, that I can't chew properly -- not at all.   I think the shame I am feeling is related to money shame.  I don't mind being poor. I don't mind not being able to buy new clothes, books, go to the theater or opera, etc.  I feel humiliated that I can't afford dental care.

Woe is me.

rambling. as i do.