Five Dollar Service

What can I say? Some days are just crummy. One of our speakers for my Career Speaker event at school got confused about the time, so I had to tell 95 waiting students that she would be back next week. I wondered if this would keep happening for our three-week event, and was I simply trying to juggle too much? I had rushed to chaperon a field trip just before that, and then I worked in a classroom that did not have enough books for an open-book test. I couldn't seem to overcome the hurdles and by late afternoon I was feeling rather down.Thursday was not my favorite day.

As I waded through the 280 traffic toward home, I wondered how I could pull myself out of an emotional tailspin. Go on a run? No energy. Go shopping? No time or extra cash. Eat chocolate? Maybe. Grace was at her internship, and Bob's kids were away for the evening. I had one appointment on the way home, then I would take an hour for myself--maybe even to consume chocolate. As I pulled up to the stoplight at Bollinger Road, I noticed a man with a cardboard "please help" sign in the median. I've seen lots of people holding signs, but never in that location just across from Wendy's hamburgers. From inside my comfortable car, still feeling a little sorry for myself and dwelling on the losses of the day, I wondered what humiliation the weathered man had been through to make a cardboard sign and sit in the median asking for donations? Had he brought it on himself? Then I snapped back into pity mode, "A frosty from Wendy's sounds really good to me, maybe just the chocolate treat I need after this undesirable day." Of course, I deserved it after all I had suffered, right?

The light seemed to take longer to turn green for the moment, and I started to get irritated that this man was affecting me and my need to consume a treat to feel better after a bad day. I looked in my coin purse--usually nearly empty--and saw two five-dollar bills. The impulse surged and just as the light turned, I pushed the button to roll down the window and handed the homeless man one of the fives. He actually started to cry, "Thank you, I love you!" he said. Then he walked across the street to Wendy's. As if I had taken a magic happy pill, the misery of Thursday's failures completely left me. I didn't worry or care about what the man would do with the five dollars, for it was worth five hundred dollars for me to erase the sad feeling I had within myself. Who knew a down day could be cured by such a simple gesture! Next time you see me or a friend stressed or a little bedraggled by the blows of the day, feel free to remind us that we don't need to consume a thing. Often, giving a little something away is all it takes to feel good.

A Saturday of Service

Just a few years ago, my entire world fell apart--or so I thought. My passions were family, and hardcore snow-skiing. I even found a way to make a little money teaching the love of skiing to provide more of it for my family. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, I had to trade in the ski passion for something else. I had always enjoyed planning community events and benefits, so the master of nonprofit administration program at University of San Francisco provided a switch in gears, big time. Moving from the Salt Lake Valley, back to the Bay Area where I grew up, I could no longer drive six short miles up a winding canyon road with my kids on a Saturday to ski and board fresh powder. This week I had the itch to ski! I had been lucky enough to teach for nine years, maybe to get it out of my system a little. That's what I reminded myself this morning when I woke up too far away from the slopes, and too tired anyway to do much about that.

The only exertion activity today would be a long bike ride through Stevens Canyon. At the beginning of the ride I stopped by Safeway to see Bob and his two boys manning the Second Harvest Food Bank drive. They had been handing out little cards to shoppers who would hopefully remember to grab some extra groceries as they went through the store and then drop them into the barrels out front. When I arrived, their barrel was two-thirds full after a two hour shift. "Not bad," I thought. As I watched the next shift of volunteers hand out cards I wondered why people gave fifteen-year-old Sam such a chilly reception. I hoped he would have more success to feel a sense of purpose with his Saturday service. Second Harvest is always in need of volunteers to do food drives. The little cards they provide make it so easy to give to customers as they walk into the grocery store. There is a checklist requesting stew, chili, soup, peanut butter, low-sugar cereal, fruit juices, canned fruits and veggies. Nobody can deny the slogan on the card, "Nothing else matters when you're hungry. Give what matters." I hope the shoppers loosened up a bit and filled the barrels this afternoon, making young volunteers like Logan, Cameron, Nathan, Brandon, and Sam feel like they made a difference.

After checking out the boys' progress on the food bank drive, I continued on my way to Steven's Canyon. As I pedaled toward the foothills I noticed some high school aged students with industrial size boxes and a bunch of cars lined up at Monta Vista High School. Of course, I had to check it out! I found out these community service and leadership students (including Benjamin and Aditi, with whom I spoke) were hosting an e-waste recycling event, sponsored by Green Mouse Recycling. They had taken flyers around the community asking people to bring their old computers, cell phones, car batteries and electronics to the pallets at school today. The recycling company would pick up the waste and pay the student volunteers for a percentage of the value, which they in turn could use for another community benefit. Last year, they used the $1000 donation to improve overall recycling efforts on campus. Our school has two groups that work to promote environmental awareness, and we have a Goodwill truck parked in our lot trying to gather e-waste. Perhaps Paly could give it try sometime. The Monta Vista students and the owner of Green Mouse were running around organizing donations, while they told me that nearby Los Altos High School was also hosting a similar event today--with 200 cars lined up! There is so much more going on around here in my hometown than I could have imagined, had I remained looking from my limited view at the slopes of Little Cottonwood Canyon. Finding all of the service that goes on in my community is like a treasure hunt every day. Of course, I can never get the itch to ski completely out of my system, but the excitement of finding more and more good works comes pretty close when there's no snow in sight.

The bike ride would have to provide enough exercise-based endorphins for me this weekend, so maybe I could take the turns really tight and it would feel like the arcs of my skis. As I wound through the hills between Garrod Stables and Congress Springs Park, staying ahead of an older gentleman close behind I noticed a man and woman riding together at a relaxed pace. I didn't want to slow down to stay behind them--this needed to feel like hardcore skiing so I was going to push myself. As I wound through a few more turns and got closer I could see the man had a prosthetic leg, and they both wore "Team in Training" shirts for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. They were on a training ride for a fundraising event--more community service today! My job as observer sometimes reminds me I could do more good works instead of whining that I can't go skiing enough on Saturdays. As I thought about the man with a missing leg riding some tough hills to benefit leukemia patients, a dozen students gathering green waste to benefit the environment, and the teenage boys collecting food bank donations I realized there is more to life than skiing on a sunny March weekend. The world has need of more people who spend an occasional Saturday doing community service and good works.

El Camino, The Way

There is nothing quite so scary as a teenager begging to be taken the hospital "right away, Mom!" I had a feeling something wasn't quite right with Grace on Wednesday when she was throwing up all night, and I had a distinct impression to go back home mid-way through my work on Thursday. "Just in time," the surgeon said later as he came out of the operating room, "One more day and that infected appendix would have burst." For all the anxiety surrounding an emergency appendectomy, I felt blessed to be in a country with fabulous medical care. My daughter would be able to come home in time for a special family weekend with her sister and her niece visiting--the wonders of modern science!

El Camino Hospital was the place where I was born, the location of my father's untimely passing at age 39, and my community connection when I volunteered as a candy-striper to find out if my passion was physical therapy. I hadn't spent much time there since high school, other than a couple of ER visits for Grace's recent ear infections. Our surgery experience this President's Day weekend provided healing to my soul, in addition to my daughter's health. The "pink ladies," as the adult volunteers are still called, greeted us warmly in the lobby and offered directions. Maybe their kindness helped me maintain perspective. When the admitting clerk and the floor supervisor began sparring over duties and couldn't figure out why they had no record of my daughter being sent there by the surgeon, I assertively called the doctor's office from my cell phone instead of coming unglued and snapping at the should-be-retired front desk clerk.

"Mom, how can I get involved in the community?" I asked during my lonely junior year at Homestead High School. My mom told me how much she had enjoyed her time working as a pink lady at Holy Cross Hospital in Salt Lake City, so I gave it a try. When the PSAT results came back and the career wheel matched my scores with physical therapy or interior design, I asked the volunteer supervisor to change my assignment from delivering books and wheelchairs to helping in the rehab department. After working with a particular patient who was sorry she was still alive, I decided to keep my options open. However, I got to spend every week in the rehab wing, and to truly understand what it takes to be a successful physical or occupational therapist. Service not only brought me out of my self-absorbed-sixteen-year-old shell, but also gave me direction to pursue and a sense of purpose while in college. I did end up majoring at first in Pre-Occupational Therapy (would have been a great job), but changed to Interior Design (a fine fit).

As the nurses and pink ladies attended to my daughter and my family this weekend, I felt renewed by the generous spirits at El Camino Hospital. Even though I didn't pursue that first career path from my high school experience, I had felt empowered from reaching out through volunteering and helping others. I saw so many people that had worse lives than mine--some who would stay in the hospital for a very long time. Some like my dad, who wouldn't make it home. I learned to be grateful in giving.

The facilities have grown, making my old aggregate stone and brick birthplace barely recognizable. The interiors have benefited from talented design professionals with a flair for healthcare spaces. The lobby and corridors are colorful with original artwork, even graced at times with volunteer musicians playing the piano or guitar. I was looking for the candy-stripers, but didn't see them this weekend. However, the pink lady who wheeled my daughter out to the car sent us home with a tiny handmade crane glued to a card from the hospital auxiliary with 1,000 healing wishes. Perhaps the candy-stripers help to make those cranes. I hope there are some teenagers who find their connection and their path through El Camino, like I did. It has become more than a place for medical care for me, it is a symbol of healing, and The Way to a good life.

Interested in Helping with Healthcare?

Try these cool connections...

• Contact your local hospital's volunteer coordinator. Some hospitals have background checks and waiting lists, but if you are patient you will find an opportunity. You might also consider offering to share specific talents, instead of a regular shift: music, crafts, card games. (Some of our high school students started a poker club at a rest home, so be creative!)

• Contact the fire department to see if they have an EMT Explorers program. You will ride along as a trained volunteer to respond to emergencies.

• Contact a health clinic in your area for volunteer opportunities and/or a Medical Explorers program. On the Peninsula/Bay Area, Palo Alto Medical Foundation (Palo Alto office) has a monthly program for high school and college students.

Open doors and Other Small Things

Sometimes when we are generous in small, barely detectable ways it can change someone else's life forever. ~Margaret Cho (b.1968); comedian,actress

My workouts at the gym have gone late into the evening during the past month or two, as I put the miles on training for a ten mile race in San Juan Bautista. One Wednesday night I ran on the treadmill for eight solitary miles and closed the place down. As I dragged myself into the foyer toward the double doors to go home, two men about my age chided each other about their basketball scrimmage. I was a pace or two behind them, so I let them go ahead assuming they would hold one of the doors--or at least not let it slam into me. Hormones must have been overflowing from their game, because they hardly noticed another human was in their midst and both doors clipped me as I tried to squeeze through.

The next night, I had a little stop to make at TJ Maxx on my way home from work to pick up a birthday gift. After the night before and bumping into the doors under false assumption, I didn't want to embarrass myself so I reached out as another mom entered before me. Surprisingly, she made eye contact and then intentionally held the door for a few extra seconds to give me time to go through. All the mom's poking around at TJ Maxx that evening seemed tired like I was--just trying to do the bare minimum and go home. I was even more tired that night, just from hard work all day, so her gesture energized me just enough to find the birthday gift and head back into traffic.

The following Sunday in church I heard an old friend of mine give a talk about the little things we do to uplift each other, and she cited the example of her mom waving goodbye to the family as they drove down the street after their visits. She had other examples of small acts of redemption we do for each other, things that really make a difference. I thought about my observations over the past two years in this blog. Even though I haven't had the time to write about everything I've witnessed, the constant theme has forced me to look for more good during another somewhat difficult "transition time" in my life.

I was given a thankfulness journal in a church meeting last Fall, so I put it in the driver's door compartment of my car in hopes that I would find a few minutes each day to note some "small things" that others did to uplift me. I find that when I start writing, the list just goes on and on. Those days when guys at the gym let the door slam, or when someone is rude to me on the road, are turned around by so many others who take the time to stop along the way--to open the door, to say hello, and recently to bring a magic Valentine to our house. All are reminders that life is good, and the world is abundant with good people who do good works. The only way to truly appreciate this bounty is to watch for and take note of all the small things.

Looking for small things you can do?
Check out the Random Acts of Kindness tool.
http://www.randomactsofkindness.org/Kindness-Ideas.html

My Dad, Dr. King, and a Day of Service

I grew up in the sixties and seventies here in the culturally rich region of Northern California, the Bay Area. When he was a teen, my dad couldn't wait to get out of Spencer, Iowa and after graduating from college he took the opportunity in 1957 to serve as a pilot at the Alameda Naval Base. Possibly there was a connection between the next-door Iowa county "Palo Alto," and his decision to settle in the extremely diverse community of Palo Alto, California. Even in those early years, this was a melting pot. For once in his life, my dad "fit right in." Northern Iowa was not the kind of place where a black-haired, blue-eyed, exotic-looking man could exactly blend into the community. Most were of German or Scandinavian descent, so Carl had to charm them with his intelligence and affability.

Sadly, my dad passed away unexpectedly from injuries sustained in a Memorial Day water-skiing accident just before my eleventh birthday. However, his star shone brightly and left indelible impressions on my soul about acceptance, fairness, and a sense of community. The town of Spencer, Iowa was a safe place for him but he longed to know other cultures and ethnicity; he longed to find his own. Being the strong personality that he was, I learned some important lessons from Carl at a young age. I'll never forget the day I learned that racial discrimination was inhumane. He had taken a few of us kids, including my neighborhood friend, to McDonald's on Blossom Hill Road for lunch, it must have been a Saturday. I remember ordering my favorite: hamburger, fries, and chocolate shake. (I'm convinced they tasted better in 1969!) A few of us sat in the rear-facing back seat on the way home, munching our burgers and slurping our shakes. As a few people with warm brown skin walked down the sidewalk, someone from inside the car--selective memory prevents exact recollection--yelled out the now nearly-extinct racial slur for no apparent reason other than to harass the walkers. It didn't sound right to me, but as a painfully shy girl I giggled anyway at her brazenness.

My most vivid memory of my father is attributed to what came next...His slamming on the brakes of the station wagon, followed by flinging out of the driver's seat and to the back of the car and the open rear window. His towering, six-foot-four stature glared into our wide-eyed faces as he made it perfectly clear that we were out of line, "Don't you EVER say that word again, DO YOU HEAR ME?????" Then he called across to the couple walking and apologized for his naive children. Dad did not speak the rest of the way home down Almaden Expressway, and neither did we. I don't think I finished my chocolate shake, nor do I remember liking them nearly as much after that incident. But I do remember the message from Carl that day, and the message of acceptance that he continued to live throughout his short 39 years: We are all acceptable, none is better than another.

Dad came from a homogeneous little mid-western community where he tried to fit in, and later when he arrived in the town I now call home he was determined to make others feel the acceptance he always craved as a child and teenager. I wish I could ask him how Dr. Martin Luther King affected him in those years, I have a hunch it was profound. In reading about Dr. King I see his timely themes of social justice woven into the empowerment of all races in America; this is evolving into present-day interpretation of contributing community service as a means to promote social equality and to celebrate his life. I can think of no better way to honor Dr. King, and Carl Steffens, than to give back to my community and to my fellow man on this relatively new national holiday. Thank you Dr. King for the legacy, and thank you Carl Steffens for making your unquestionable statement of racial equality to a bunch of ignorant little kids who didn't know any better until you set us straight!

Want to give back to honor Dr. King? This will inspire you:

Idealist Blog Post, Honoring Martin Luther King, Jr. with a day on, not a day off. http://www.idealist.org/blog/en/honoring-martin-luther-king-jr-with-a-day-on-not-a-day-off/

These are yearly events:

Martin Luther King, Jr. Week of Service: http://www.handsonbayarea.org/AboutUs/index.php/specialevents/MLK.htmlSign-up for a Community Service Project - The Palo Alto Jewish Community Center is organizing a day of service, with more than 25 local volunteer opportunities, ranging from habitat restoration, making cat toys and dog biscuits for homeless pets, visiting senior citizens, serving meals at a shelter, working on crafts for hospitalized children and helping with the creation of a library in Botswana. Details: www.paloaltojcc.org/mitzvah Info: www.CityofPaloAlto.org/dayofservice
Community Service on Lytton Plaza - The City of Palo Alto in collaboration with Youth Community Service (YCS) will provide opportunities to donate food and clothing and to participate in a volunteer project on Lytton Plaza. Bring the whole family between noon and 3pm. There will be music and fun for all - and more importantly, this will be a chance to do something to help others.

Give a Little Push

We drove on frozen roads and braved a frigid blizzard in Salt Lake City last Wednesday during our vacation, attempting to rent snowboards for kids and pick up a cake for my daughter Sheridan's twenty-second birthday. I know every dangerous hill in town, having bumped into snowbanks and parked cars a time or two when I lived there. This time, we were in a heavier car with new tires so I wasn't too worried we'd get stuck. The police have become more considerate these days, diverting traffic from the hills where we used to slide, onto residential streets with less of a slope and better traction. I don't know why the snowplows there take so long to catch up to the storms.

As we took our mandated detour from 7000 South to 2700 East, the line of cars slowed to a crawl and then stopped. We looked ahead to the slight curve and no cars made it past. "There must be someone stuck on the hill ," we said to each other. We were tired of trudging through the snow and ready to go back to our holiday rental house for dinner. After five or ten minutes of waiting, slowly cars began to go around the vehicle to make their way home. As we approached the motionless white Saturn, I could see an elderly person in the driver's seat spinning the wheels--clearly not cut out for winter driving. A younger man futilely pushed from the back corner, ready to give up from exhaustion. He had been attempting to heave the car out of the ice since the beginning of the back-up. I couldn't refrain from commenting to Bob that these people must need some help. I would have understood if he had kept going; our car was sliding too. But he quickly pulled over as the other cars went around us, to find out why the Saturn couldn't make it up the little slope. Two more cars lost traction, Bob slipped on the ice in his tennis shoes, and the rest of us realized we would be lucky to make it back to the house without incident.

As I watched the first gentleman pushing the Saturn, and now Bob trying to help the stranded drivers I caught myself momentarily wishing we had just gone around them like everyone else. But if we had, I would have worried about them and felt horrible all night. "Patience. We are lucky and blessed," I thought. With three stranded cars at Cottonwood Heights, and Bob and the stranger offering their help, they started to talk about the feasibility of rear-wheel drives on hills in a snowstorm. Other cars, better equipped for the conditions, slid sideways and past the curve. Then I saw the unexpected: Bob and the stranger talked for a few minutes and shook hands. Then the elderly man got out of his car, stooping shoulders and white hair, and walked over to the stranger's pickup. The stranger would take him home, we were later informed. The young girl in the little rear-wheel drive behind us also talked to Bob. Her dad would pick her up, she told him in a relieved tone.

When Bob came back to the car twenty minutes or so into our detour, I asked how it went. "Those cars are staying put tonight," he said. "I just needed to convince them not to try and drive them home." I was thankful that he was willing to get out and help, but even more thankful that he could reason with them--especially the elderly man. Sure, they've driven that hill in snow before, but why take a chance? When random strangers can pull over and give an old man a push, and then offer a ride after that doesn't work, my faith in mankind is restored. All they needed was a gentle reminder that the storm would not last forever, the car could be safely parked overnight, and there were other drivers willing to give them a lift. It's great to help someone push their car in a storm; it's even better to give them encouragement when it's time to give up and try another day. After we safely arrived back at the house from which we had started our little errands, I counted my blessings and expressed thanks that we didn't have to drive the storm anymore that night and that the stooped-over, white haired man was able to accept first the help of a stranger and second the life-saving suggestion of my husband in his slippery shoes!

"We Are All Homeless"

Bob was looking for a service project idea for our church youth group, so we brainstormed options within a tight time frame--a Wednesday night during the next few weeks, from 7-8:30 p.m. There aren't too many agencies that can use help at that time. I had given him and a friend who is a Boy Scout leader the same leads to try: serve dinner at an Innvision shelter, sort donations at Second Harvest Food Bank, go to the Family Giving Tree and do warehouse work, or gather treats and supplies for troops in conjunction with Operation Shoebox. It sounds easy to pull together a simple service project for a Wednesday night, but it really takes at least a month of planning; coordinating with the organization and with the youth takes some time. Luckily a local organization, Innvision, has taken over management of several shelters in the Bay Area and they have a dedicated volunteer coordinator. After Bob filled out an online volunteer opportunity request, she called him back with a group assignment.

The designated night arrived and I figured it would invigorate my work-drained soul to join Bob and the youth group at Innvision's Loaves and Fishes Family Kitchen. We would serve dessert and sing Christmas carols to the men who would be staying in the shelter that night. Logan printed off the lyrics so we wouldn't get stuck after just one verse. We all met and loaded up into cars to make the drive downtown. When we arrived it was a little chaotic, as the coordinator must have missed a step in communication to the supervisors. They were a bit rattled to work outside their routine, as dinner had already been cleaned up. However, a large jovial man named Emmanuel was willing to rally the daily residents for a post-meal cookie and cider buffet accompanied by "Silent Night" and "Jingle Bells."

The kids seemed a bit uncomfortable at first around the strangers as they set out their abundance of chocolate chip, oatmeal, snickerdoodle, brownies, Rice Krispie treats, on platters and plates. But just when I wondered how I could help lighten things up and make it fun, one of the men called out, "We're all homeless!" It was a deep message for me during the holidays, though the kids later suggested he was stating the obvious. No, he was a smart guy, and his inflection was exactly that: All of us are homeless in a sense. Nothing is secure in this world. I'd heard this before, it's a saying that keeps the indigent looking up and the proud looking back. With his declaration, I started to see these men, rather than a bunch of guys in a shelter for the night, but individuals with hopes, dreams, and wishes just like ours.

With cookies heaped onto plates and hot cider poured into plastic cups--nearly hot enough to melt--our group began the carols. One spirited gentleman realized he could sing along. "I'm engaging them," he told Emmanuel with a childlike smile. Another man in a perfectly clean white tee and khakis would neither engage in carols nor partake of the treats. Finally, toward the end of our visit I noticed he had filled an entire paper dinner plate full of cookies. The one next to him smiled. "These are real, homemade!" As we gathered our supplies and prepared to leave, I asked Emmanuel how often the residents get homemade cookies and desserts. He said hardly ever, and to have a visit after dinner was out of the ordinary and extra-special to these guys. Their Christmas tree would be set up the next day and this was a perfect way to set the tone for the holidays.

As I sit in a cozy living room reflecting on our little service project last week, I am listening to Michael McLean's "Forgotten Carols," and the song "Homeless." I think about Emmanuel and the guys at the Loaves and Fishes shelter. We can never take our circumstances for granted, not during the holidays nor during the rest of the year. The gentleman was right, we must remember that unpleasant things can happen to any of us. They've happened to me, and they've happened to people I know. The only way to remember how lucky we are is to keep reaching out to those who have less, and when we get outside of our comfort zones they reach back out to us. They "engage us" and remind us of what is truly important in life; sometimes all it takes is a plate of cookies to step back and realize how blessed we are and how much we have to give.

Interested in Bay Area service projects during the holidays and the rest of the year?
These organizations can always use your help!

• http://www.innvision.org/volunteer_group.php

• http://www.loavesfishes.org/
  

• http://www.shfb.org/warehousesortsmc

• http://www.familygivingtree.org/volunteers/admin/showtask.php

• http://www.operationshoebox.com/