Buy Nothing FaceBook

There are times when I lose my faith in humanity and then something happens that restores it. Lately, most of my grace-filled moments come from my experience with “Buy Nothing FaceBook.” My husband and I are cleaning out our house. We have so much stuff that we no longer need but is still in good condition. Our kids don’t need or want what we are trying to give away. Since we try to be conscious of the planet and not just throw usable items away, I was stumped. Of course, I know about GoodWill but I’m not sure what they throw away. Then someone told me about “Buy Nothing Facebook”

There are multiple pages of Buy Nothing Facebook. I belong to the West Webster page. You have to join the page that is local to you. This way when you put your items up on the page to give away, the person that wants them is a short drive away. Your items have to be free. There is no selling on this page. It works like this. You post your item. “Give, a crib with attached changing table in good condition. Used for babies staying or napping at Grandma’s house.” People who are interested post a comment “Interested”. The person giving away the item sends a Facebook direct message (DM) to whoever they pick to receive the item.

You can also ask for things on the page. We wanted to paint some fences in our church gardens. We asked for paint and people were happy to give us half-filled cans of paint from their basement!

I have met the nicest people who live just a few miles away by posting on the page. We had thirty-year-old outdoor furniture that a couple took to refinish. They live a mile from our house and we knew people in common but had never met them.

There was a family who live close by who took some furniture for a refugee family.

There was the woman who took my old rocking chair. She was young and moving into her first apartment. She told me she was going to paint it white and put plants on it.

And there was the woman who was struggling with a baby born with a cleft palate. She had nothing. A woman in my Facebook group was collecting baby furniture for her. She got our crib with the attached changing table.

This has been a wonderful way to meet people who live fairly close by and find out how they are helping others. Who knew getting rid of stuff could provide such grace-filled moments of connection?

Ghost Bikes

Ghost Bike for Deaveon Davis on the corner of Linden Ave. and Glen Road in Brighton, NY

Deaveon Davis rode his bike to work almost every day. He was biking to his girlfriend’s house to get his car keys one early morning in March and he was struck and killed by an SUV at the corner of Linden Ave and Glen Road in Brighton. His friends and family were devastated.

The cycling community in Rochester decided to take action. There have been too many cyclists killed by cars in our community. The installation of a Ghost Bike serves two purposes. The first is to honor and memorialize the dead. Deaveon’s family gathered to pray at the corner where he was killed. His name was written on the white ghost bike. The second purpose of this installation is to raise the level of awareness of cyclists on the road. We need to learn to share the road and look out for cyclists. Drivers are distracted by cell phone notifications, trying to text and drive, trying to make calls and drive, and a myriad of other little things that use up the instant they need to avoid a fatal collision. Since we don’t have bike lanes, we tend not to expect to see cyclists on the road, especially at multi-lane busy intersections.

In the Netherlands, the pedestrian is King, the cyclists are queens, and the car comes in as a lowly commoner. Bike lanes are everywhere and they have their own stop lights.

Most people ride their bikes to work, school, the store, and even to the golf course. For all the months we were there, I never saw an accident. Drivers are vigilant.

I officiated at the installation of the ghost bike for Deaveon. I have done countless funerals but the devastation of his friends and family was intense. They were still trying to fathom how a young man with everything going for him in the prime of his life was gone. His life was snuffed out in a matter of seconds.

My son rides a bike to work because it’s fun and he’s trying to help save the planet. I worry about him. I would love to see our community embrace this wonderful mode of transportation. If you want to help in this endeavor, check out Reconnect Rochester. https://reconnectrochester.org/

Nothing Will Happen Unless…

This information is actually incorrect. I’m in the State Assembly district 135 and the State Senatorial district 54. Check your information!

Nothing will happen unless we do something.

I couldn’t sleep after the mass shooting in Buffalo or Texas. The tragedy was horrific and we all have spent time picturing our loved ones or ourselves suffering through it. That alone is enough to keep us up at night but the idea that nothing will change as a result is truly heart-wrenching.

We have a voice and our voice matters. For years, I have worked with Rural and Migrant Ministry to address the unjust laws for farmworkers. Farmworkers did not have the same rights as the rest of us in New York State. They were not given overtime or even a day off. They were denied the right to organize. It wasn’t until 1996 that a law was passed requiring employees to provide drinking water to workers and it was 1998 before toilets were mandated for workers. (https://documentedny.com/2021/10/13/12-workers-make-history-forming-new-yorks-first-farmworkers-union/)

Finally, in 2021, farmworkers were given most of the rights the rest of us take for granted but they still need to work 60 hours before receiving overtime pay. We are still working to change that law.

I tell you about farmworkers because I know firsthand how long it takes and what has to happen to get the attention of our elected officials. But it can be done.

We all have to make our views known to our elected officials. I am against assault weapons being sold to the general public. There should be red flag checks. I am planning on starting with my town officials, then my state representatives, and my federal representatives. I’ve had their offices on speed dial for the last twenty years.

Here’s what to expect, when you contact the office you may get lucky and speak to a staffer. If you call often enough, they will come to know you. If you write, you might receive a form letter from their office. If you email, you will get an acknowledgment email. This can be discouraging but it takes time and repetition.

If only a few people take action by contacting their representatives, nothing will happen. It will be business as usual, both sides not listening to the other side. Meanwhile, 20 more mass shootings have happened since TX.

But if we ALL take action and rally our friends and family and thousands of letters, emails, and phone calls start happening, something might happen. If we all get out and vote, things could change.

Identify your representatives and contact them. https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative, https://www.senate.gov/senators/senators-

contact.htmhttps://www.nysenate.gov/registration/nojs/form/start/find-my-senator. If you are outside of New York State, google “How do I find my state senator”

https://nyassembly.gov/mem/search/. (If you are outside of NY, google “How do I find my state representative)

If you are a teacher, organize and barrage your representatives with pleas to make changes! How many more deaths will it take? Use your VOICE!!!!!!

Are we in trouble?

Hiking has changed in the last 40 -50 years. We used to get a guide for the areas we wanted to hike. The guide would tell us where the trailhead was and then narrate the hike. I remember my father reading the description of the trail from the guidebook. “Follow the brook for two miles through a pine forest before ascending a steep rocky trail for one mile, etc.”

Now there is an App. So I downloaded it. The App connects to google maps and guides you right to the trailhead. At least that is what is supposed to happen. I started driving following the directions of the App. My screen lit up with a question. Do you want to take a shortcut? Without even hesitating, I pressed yes and continued following the directions which took us to a deserted road in the middle of nowhere. There was no trailhead in sight. The map said we were there but “there” was a dirt road in the middle of a steep hill with ditches instead of shoulders on the side. Even with our Jeep Wrangler’s tight turning radius, I didn’t think I could turn around. We stopped, set the emergency brake, and got out to find the elusive trailhead.

There was a deep rumbling sound and I saw a huge dump truck climbing the hill. He went roaring by us and then at the top of the hill he slammed on his brakes and screeched to a stop. The door flew open and the driver jumped out and started running down the hill.

Uh oh, I thought. We are in trouble. We shouldn’t be here, we are parked illegally, this is someone’s private property, why did I buy that App? Was it because I pressed shortcut? All I wanted to do was take a lousy hike? Is he going to yell at us?

We watched as the driver slid to a stop on the heels of his work boots. He bent down and picked something up and held it over his head like an athlete who just won a gold medal. It was a bag of garbage – a French fries container, a hamburger wrapper, a plastic cup complete with a straw sticking out of the lid, all falling out of a torn bag.

The driver had stopped to pick up trash.

The driver of this very large construction vehicle obviously on his way to a job had stopped to pick up someone else’s trash in the middle of nowhere.

Who does that?

We watched him jog up the hill with his trash, climb into his truck, and drive away.

We stood there, the trailhead forgotten as we looked at the pristine landscape surrounding us giving thanks for the steward in the dump truck who took a few minutes to keep it that way.

I Can’t Imagine

There is no image for this post that could possibly express the anguish I feel.

I can’t imagine why that young man shot ten people in the Top’s.

I know what the reporters say. He drove from just outside of Binghamton and targeted African Americans. It was a racist act of hate. I’m sure it was.

I can’t imagine what happened to this person that made him drive hundreds of miles to shoot innocent people at a grocery store,

I know there are people who encourage violence and use every means of communication to inflame young minds generating the emotions that cause them to take heinous actions.

I can’t imagine what he was thinking as he drove.

I know we need to all work together to take action. We need to decide what action to take. Everyone needs to get involved.

I can’t imagine what the victims families are going through today. How does a trip to the grocery store result in death?

I know the lives of the people in the community are changed forever. The horror of not feeling safe. The idea of being targeted.

I can’t imagine how he went from someone’s baby boy to a toddler, to a boy, and then a shooter.

I know I will support anti racism training, leadership development for youth, and policies that work toward creating a peaceful and just society. We need to work together. We have to stop the rhetoric that tears us apart. We need to be open to hearing one another. We can’t just write about it.

What specific action will we take?

Too much stuff

We had to empty out our kitchen recently since we are having it remodeled. It’s humbling to realize how much stuff we have.

I’ve watched both seasons of the “Home Edit” on Netflix. We are a nation with too much stuff. No matter how large the home, closets, and cupboards are bulging. Mine included.

This remodeling of the kitchen presented an opportunity to let stuff go, give it away, or repurpose it. The first step is the edit step and the majority of people have trouble with this step. I keep thinking about the one piece of clothing I gave away because I never wore it and then the perfect event happened six months later and I really wanted that dress back. Just that one experience makes me second-guess giving anything away. The second reason, I don’t want to let anything go is the sentimental value I attach to objects. For example, I bought this pitcher in the Netherlands because I needed a pitcher. At home, I have six pitchers. How many do I need? All the others have memories attached as well. Which one do I get rid of? I’ve been told to keep the one that sparks the most joy but none of the pitchers spark joy for me but I do need a pitcher! Round and round I go.

I have made a discovery about myself. It takes me two iterations to edit. On the first pass, I am quick and decisive. My husband watches me fill boxes and as soon as they seem full he runs them out to the truck and he’s off to the donation sites.

I’ve met some wonderful people on “Buy Nothing West Webster” Facebook page. They come and take away my stuff and are elated. It’s easy to offer up my 40-year-old furniture that is still in great shape.

The second pass is tough. I hem and haw over little things that I haven’t touched or used in the past two years. I just like having some of this stuff.

On the Home Edit show, they have a saying, you can have the stuff or you can have the space. I want space.

Life is less stressful when there is space. I had four sets of measuring cups, 6 scotch tape dispensers, lids that had no matching pots, and don’t get me started on the plastic storage containers and lids. I consolidated and found out that I might enjoy cooking.

My son and daughter-in-law are getting rid of all their stuff. They sold their house and they bought a twenty-two-foot trailer. They plan on living in it indefinitely with their five-year-old daughter and two dogs. They are letting go of everything they own from their house except what will fit in a 5′ X 5′ storage container and their trailer.

My husband and I lived in a 30-foot RV for five months. I told my son, you’ll figure out what is most important to you. It’s not the stuff.

Bobo Used To Rob Banks

This is a picture of Bobo at his 70th birthday party.

I took him to Wegmans a few days after he had gotten out of prison. He had to sit down after he walked through the chip aisle. “There are so many different kinds it makes my head spin,” he said. He was stuck in the men’s room trying to figure out how to turn on a faucet that had no handles until he saw another man stick his hands underneath and the water magically appeared.

It took forever to find him an apartment. No one wanted an ex-con in their building. Finding a job was even harder. He interviews fine, my friend said, he just looks bad on paper. I guess thirty years behind bars for felony murder is a tough hurdle for most employers.

But the Bobo who went into prison was different than the man who came out. The man who came out had changed the lives of more than ten thousand kids. This was not the scared straight program, this was Bobo’s program.

It started because he decided to attend Bible study. The scripture worked on him like rain on a rock. He began to feel a call. He didn’t want others like him to end up in prison.

He got sponsors like Xerox and other corporations to pay to bring kids from inner-city Rochester to Attica. Bobo said, he would sit them down and start telling his story, how he robbed banks and how he got caught and how someone lost their life because of his robbery. I didn’t shoot him but my actions caused him to get shot. He told the kids.

The corporate sponsor would provide a bag lunch for the kids. Bobo would grab a sandwich out of one kid’s hand and start eating it. He would give his prison meal to the kid. It was effective.

I had Bobo talk to our Summer of Opportunities high school youth. The boys were riveted. Bobo talked about how difficult prison is and how there is no freedom. He did not volunteer any details about his bank robberies but he did tell the youth that they could ask him any question they wanted. They were more curious about prison.

Bobo was one of the most authentic people I ever met. He was open about his life, he was incredibly sorry about the pain he caused others, and even though he was granted his freedom, his life didn’t get easier. His only daughter died from a drug overdose. Bobo’s kidneys failed and although he got a transplant, the kidneys didn’t last long.

I went to see him in the hospital when he was dying. He was so gracious and in awe that I had taken the time to visit. He had no real inclination of how he had transformed me.

It doesn’t matter who we are or what we may have done in our lives, once we say yes to God, God will open up a way to minister to others.

https://13wham.com/news/local/after-serving-time-he-served-others?fbclid=IwAR3KNPFIY_Vc3yjrSSLyHPnfbag8FbcAxVjEfUvvJP4e2R0XDXdqKh0VP0U

The Unwanted Visitor

Nothing can prepare us for the experience of loss and grief. We may think we know how we are going to react but we don’t and it is different for everyone.

Grief is the unwanted visitor that hangs around outside listening to the unthinkable news being delivered. It may wait a few minutes but then it charges the door and envelopes us. Eventually, we become so exhausted that we don’t see grief and it sneaks off into a corner and may even leave for a few hours but then it’s back banging on the door. We open it, recognize it and slam the door. I can’t, we think. Not now. Leave me alone.

Grief slinks away, looking over its shoulder mouthing I’ll be back when you least expect it.

We are out doing something perfectly ordinary like grocery shopping and we run into grief in the coffee aisle. It’s kneeling in front of the coffee studying the different packages and springs up as we notice the Dunkin Donut package of whole beans that our loved one used to plunge his nose in and take a good long sniff. Tears stream down our face, our hand frozen in mid-reach for the bag of coffee. Kind people ask if we are ok. We nod and move on leaving the coffee bag on the shelf.

People visit, bring food, send flowers and grief hangs around the periphery. We are so busy, we miss grief’s face in the crowd. Weeks go by, we are still numb going through the motions wondering if we will ever enjoy anything again.

The doorbell rings. It’s grief. We open the door. What do you want? They stand there, head down, shoulders slumped, hands in their pocket like a sullen teenager that wants to be noticed. Fine, we say and invite grief in for a chat.

Grief settles in on the couch. They sip their coffee waiting. We don’t want you around, we say. We’ve had enough. You need to go. We want our life back we scream.

But grief keeps showing up. Sometimes it’s for morning coffee, sometimes it’s at 3am, and sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon.

When we invite grief in we notice that grief lays down on the couch and we have the sudden realization that they are here to stay like a house guest that just doesn’t leave. Grief seems to have matured through the weeks and one day during morning coffee, grief reminds us of a wonderful story about our loved one. We find ourselves laughing along with grief as grief points out the time we got our father a beer when he was mowing the lawn complete with ice cubes. He said he wanted a cold beer. We watched him chug it and then throw the cubes on the freshly mown grass. He never said a word but just thanked us and continued mowing. Laughter ends in tears but they are happier tears.

Grief becomes a shadow following behind us where ever we go but they are like a professional detective keeping us in sight but trying not to let us know they are there. Promises were made with grief. They can continue to live with us as long as they quit sneaking up in the worst moments, behave when company is around, and don’t bother us in public. We promise grief that we wouldn’t ignore them and that we would sit down with them on a regular basis.

Grief is our constant companion. Not one we would have chosen but one foisted upon us. It may not be the visitor we want but grief visits anyway so it is good to invite grief in for a talk, get acquainted, and set up some ground rules.

I lived without grief for many years. Yes, I experienced small losses but it wasn’t until my father died that I met grief at the door. We have an understanding, grief and I. For the most part our relationship works. We are comfortable with each other.

The Season of Easter

Easter is not just a day, it’s a season in the Church year and it lasts for fifty days. It’s a great time to think about how to live as people of the resurrection in the world today.

Every Monday I will be posting a meditation about living in the Easter Season. Thank you for reading and supporting my posts this past Lent. Come back next Monday for the first of the Easter Season posts!

%d bloggers like this: