Shelter Lessons

On and off for the past few months, I’ve been volunteering at a day shelter. I’m not writing this to boast about my tiny bit of volunteer work, rather my intention is to share five things I’ve learned as folk come into this community's refuge from the elements. This shelter also offers an opportunity for those who live in tents or cars to do laundry, take showers, and swap out clothes that can no longer be worn. It also offers a warm, safe place to nap -- folk can borrow pillows and blankets, mats and cots.

Donations are appreciated. Unfortunately, many of the items donated are not things that folk living in tents can use. Things like women’s dress shoes, sexy night gowns, and XXXL-sized pants are seldom, if ever, needed at the day shelter -- other organizations will accept those items. This time of year, folk need warm boots and sneakers, gloves, sweat pants and hoodies, and weather-proof coats.

After signing at the entrance to the shelter, folks find a corner or a couch to claim for a few hours, then they head to the hot water stand where they help themselves to hot tea, cocoa, coffee and sometimes noodle bowls. A local bakery supplies day-old bread and donuts.

A few minutes after opening, folks will come to my door at what is referred to as the clothing bank. I always ask their names. They smile because it’s not a question they often hear. Then I ask, "And what can I find for you?" They know the items are donated and that they may be lucky today or they might have to try again tomorrow.

Bridgette arrived wearing plastic sandals without socks. Her feet were red from the cold and rain. “Maybe a pair of shoes, size eleven,” she asked me. I dug through the bin of women’s dress shoes, bedroom slippers, and sneakers – nothing close to a size eleven. A man’s size 7 was too tight.  The best I could offer from the donated piles of clothes and shoes was two warm, wooly pair of socks. She slipped one pair on her feet and set the other in her duffel bag. She then put on her sandals and cheerfully said, “This will do.”  I mentally filed her name so that I could watch for a size that might fit.

As he returned some pants that were too large, Mike said, “Beggers can’t be choosers.” I stopped him, “No, Mike, don’t you ever say that. We’ll keep looking.” And he waited. And I dug through boxes. But no luck today. He’ll come back tomorrow or the next day, and we’ll try again.

Susan asked for an oversized T-shirt to wear under her sweater. I pulled a bright red from the bin and held it up. She shook her head and said, “Red’s not my color.” I smiled and pulled a deep purple, long-sleeved tee from the rack. Her toothless grin beamed. I said, “This is your color, isn’t it?” She hugged me and went on her way to the nest she made in the corner of the room.

Over his arm were gently worn sweat pants and a flannel shirt. Brian said, “Today’s my day to shower. Do you have any underwear?” Now, that one hit me because first off, we had no underwear in the donation bins, and secondly, imagine what it took for him to ask.

Jack was tall and lean, his pants were shredded and soaking wet. Nothing in the donation bin would fit, but I suggested he hang out for a bit as there were plenty of boxes and bags yet to sort. Much later, I pulled a pair of gently worn flannel-lined, waterproof cargo pants from a mixed bag. I quickly left the room to find Jack, sitting on a mat sipping coffee. The pants fit as if they were made just for him. SCORE!

And on it went. Throughout the morning of sorting donations, I handed out sweat pants, shirts, sweaters, water repellent jackets, a few pair of boots, tarps, sleeping bags, wool caps, gloves, and socks --- lots of socks.

I learned lots of names and these five important lessons about not overlooking small, human details:

1. Dignity is built from tiny increments of comfort.

Bridgette’s wool socks aren’t a solution to homelessness, but they are a solution to cold feet. And in that moment, that’s everything.

2. Personal preference doesn’t disappear with hardship.

The woman who didn’t want red — that’s such a powerful reminder. People often assume that when someone is struggling, they should accept anything. But recognizing someone’s taste, someone’s identity, someone’s right to choose. That’s dignity in action.

3. When something fits — literally or metaphorically — it feels like a win for everyone.

Jack’s cargo pants moment reads like a small miracle. It’s amazing how a single item that fits well can restore a sense of normalcy, even pride.

4. Asking for what you need can be an act of courage.

Brian asking for underwear — that’s vulnerability. We need to meet that vulnerability with compassion rather than awkwardness or pity. That matters more than you know.

5. Language shapes self-worth.

When Mike said, “Beggars can’t be choosers,” I couldn’t let it stand. No one should shrink themselves. Gentle correction can shift someone’s internal narrative. Everyone deserves to be treated like a person with preferences, not a burden.

The next time you see a street person panhandling on the corner, if you're inclined to give them a couple of dollars, please do so...and remember to ask their name!

Wishing you and yours a healthy and peaceful New Year!

Butter and Onions

At the grocery store this past week, the cashier asked if she should pack the pork loin in a separate bag. "You know...contamination," she continued, "I'm a child of the eighties, after all."

"Well," I said, "I'm a child of the fifties. If the meat looked slimy, we rinsed it off. If it still looked slimy, we fried it in butter, and if it smelled funny, we added onions."

We both laughed.

But what I said wasn't a joke. It was the way it was. The memories of fried onion and bologna sandwiches remind me that food was never just about nutrition. It was about making do and making sure no one went hungry.

My parents grew up during the Great Depression, when wasting food simply wasn’t an option. In our house, leftovers—questionable or not—were eaten without hesitation, and none of us kids ever got sick from it. Back in the 1950s, we didn’t talk much about germs, handwashing, or cross-contamination. Those concepts hadn’t yet made their way into everyday kitchens.

When I was growing up, most food was homemade. In the decades that followed, processed and packaged foods became available. I remember when my parents purchased TV dinners for the first time. "Not as good as your mother's cooking and kind of skimpy," was Dad's response.

But convenience came in many forms.

A Scranton drive-thru, which we enjoyed on a rare trip to the city, featured hamburgers for a quarter. To my youthful surprise, Dad could eat four of them! The fast food culture brought concerns about reduced nutritional quality, but unlike frozen dinners, fast food was acceptable to my parents.

Times have changed, and so have our habits. Nowadays, conversations center around plant-based diets, organic foods, sustainability, food allergies, gut health, and cultural cuisines. We may live in a world of hand sanitizer and expiration dates, but somewhere deep down, I still believe a little butter and a few onions can fix almost anything.

The Case for Cursive

I thank my grade school teachers for the compliments I've received over the years on my handwriting. I remember forming the letters of the alphabet into curves and magically joining the letters. I recall being mystified by the capital Q. As a teenager, I developed a signature that strayed a bit from the style we were taught in grade school. I printed the capital "J" and then wrote the "udy" in cursive. I've kept the style for over 50 years.

Imagine my surprise when I learned cursive is no longer taught in the classroom! I'm told that it's been a couple of decades since cursive was part of the curriculum. So I did some research to discover that there wasn’t a single moment when cursive vanished from classrooms—it was more of a gradual retreat. Here's what I learned:

Early 2000s: Cursive began to decline as schools shifted focus toward standardized testing and digital literacy.

2010: The introduction of the Common Core State Standards marked a major turning point. These standards, adopted by 41 states, did not include cursive handwriting as a required skill, leading many schools to drop it from their curriculum.

Post-2010: Keyboarding and digital communication took center stage. With limited classroom time, many educators prioritized typing over penmanship.

The fun thing about cursive is that, although we learn the basics—how to make a capital "M" or a lowercase "g"—we eventually adapt the art into a unique style that becomes our signature. Mom's penmanship was all loops and swirls while Dad had a tighter control of the pen with pointed corners and straight lines. I am happy I thought to save some samples of their penmanship. But cursive writing isn’t just about styles—it actually activates the brain in ways that typing doesn’t. Here's what the research shows:

What Happens in the Brain When You Write in Cursive

Enhanced Brain Connectivity: Writing by hand—especially in cursive—stimulates more complex neural activity than typing. EEG studies show that cursive activates widespread brain regions, especially those tied to memory and learning.

Improved Memory Encoding: Cursive writing synchronizes brain waves in the theta range (4–7 Hz), which are crucial for encoding new information. This primes the brain for deeper learning.

Boosted Fine Motor Skills: The fluid motion of cursive demands precise hand movements, which strengthen motor coordination and spatial awareness.

Better Retention and Comprehension: Students who take notes in cursive tend to retain information better than those who type. The act of forming letters by hand engages visual, motor, and cognitive processes simultaneously.

Since 2016, a resurgence began, and as of 2024, 25 states have reintroduced cursive instruction into public schools, citing benefits like improved brain development and historical literacy. Washington does not require cursive writing instruction statewide, but individual school districts may choose to teach cursive, and some do—especially in early grades or as part of handwriting development.

I’ll continue to believe that cursive is worth learning—even in a world full of other ways to write.