Semi-Good Deed

Last May, Hoop and I started the slow process of whittling down our belongings. First went the keepsakes, unused furniture, and decorations. They were the easiest to pack. Next went the extra dishes, towels, sheets, and clothes. Then came the bulkier items (beds, dressers, TVs, computers) and the things we never thought we'd live without. In the end, we learned how to live out of five small clothes bins, with a box for our shoes and a trash bag filled with toiletries.

At first it bothered me. I felt unprepared. My answer to everything was, "We have one of those packed somewhere." But as the months rolled by, I learned to like living like a nomad. I felt free. No one could judge me for the quality of my things. I didn't have to worry about dusting or cleaning anything. There was nothing to break or replace. There was no worry about overused space. I didn't have to bother with getting rid of anything, it was just... gone.

All of that stopped the moment we unloaded the truck.

"What is all this?" "It's our stuff." "Really? But, WHY?"

Our garage is a tetris of boxes and furniture from floor to ceiling. I wandered the garage as we unloaded, reading labels like "spare cables" and "desk junk" off of boxes. It finally sunk in when I found an extra large box that read, "hangers." Who the hell needs an extra large box of hangers?! "What are we going to do with all this stuff?" I asked Hoop as he and Nash unloaded our secondhand entertainment stand. He shrugged. "We don't need this stand anymore. I'm going to buy us that flat screen." "Good!" I replied, instantly arming myself with marker and tape.

"FREE TO GOOD HOME," the sign read.

Ten minutes later a small pickup truck pulled up. "I have a good home!" The female driver shouted. I was thrilled. Unfortunately, the stand wouldn't fit in the back of her truck. "That's OK. We're on our way out," Hoop told her. "We can just drop it off at your place." "What do you want to bet she lives in an apartment?" Nash laughed. "On the second floor around the back." I assured them the woman would not make them carry it in. "We're strangers. She's not going to want us in her house!" But of course, she did. Second story, around the back.

"Thank you so much! I'm a single Mom with two kids. Stuff like this is so great to find. I swear something good is going to happen for you three soon." We smiled and left, happy with our good deed. Or semi-good deed if you'd rather. It wasn't too much of a sacrifice. Of course the boys had suffered the worst of it. The flight of stairs they'd carried the stand up was barely wide enough to fit them, let alone a bulky piece of furniture. But they'd managed and we'd found a home for something we didn't really need. "I hope I win the lotto now," Hoop said as we pulled out of the apartment complex.

But what came back around (for me) wasn't a winning lotto ticket.

It was a pack of gum.

We had just sat down to eat when I reached into my purse to find my phone. What I grabbed instead was a small square package. It was wrapped in a hairband and had a little note attached. "I love you," it read. I felt a small ache start in my chest and sniffled back some tears. Sometime, in the midst of our good-byes, my Mom had slipped the little token into my purse. She knew that no matter how much I had missed my freedom, I was going to miss her too. It's been a difficult journey. She just wanted me to know that it was all going to be OK. In that moment, that pack of gum was everything I could ever want and need. It was the perfect gift for a semi-good deed.

March Search Terms:
(What people put into search engines that bring them here)
1. Armpit lover You would love Indiana. It's like the armpit of the U.S.
2. Tulip Sniffer Much more pleasant than the above fellow.
3. Alternatives to cussing Cheese and Rice! Son of a Biscuit Eater!
4. Please be kind enough to give me an excuse My blog ate it.
5. Hives from beef in last year No hives here. Unless you count the termites. Do they have hives?