Those in Desperate Need

Among the movie scenes that have deeply impacted my life, one may surprise you:

In Spaceballs: The Movie (Mel Brooks' spoof of Star Wars), the hapless heroes crash-land on an arid planet and are forced to abandon their Winnebago and trek across a vast desert. As they prepare to embark on their journey, Lone Star (see Han Solo) addresses Princess Vespa (take a wild guess) and gives her the following instruction: "Take only what you need to survive." Moments later, you see them trudging across the dunes, burdened with matching embroidered luggage. Lone Star is struggling to carry a large steamer trunk, which he finally drops onto the sand. "What do you have in here anyway?" he asks, exasperated. He opens it and lifts out a comically oversized blow dryer. "What is this?!" he demands. "I said, 'Take only what you need to survive!'"

"It's my industrial strength hair dryer," she says coolly, " and I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT IT!"

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I belong to a local chapter of Freecycle, an online bulletin board where members can offer unwanted belongings -- furniture, appliances, clothes, you name it -- to others who might have better use for them. Similarly, anyone looking for items he does not see on the list may post an inquiry for them. The motivating idea behind it: that keeping usable items in circulation as long as possible saves them from meeting an untimely demise in a landfill.

The difficulty -- and the basis of this rant -- comes when someone posts a request for something and refers to it as a "need." The forum is not designed to meet needs, although that's often a fortuitous byproduct of the arrangement. What's more, those would-be recipients often ply their readers with heart-rending stories of why [unfortunate individual] with [recent tragedy or illness] is in desperate need of [item that does not particularly strike me as a necessity]. Recent posts have cited late-model vehicles, cell phones, laptops, washer/dryer sets, an XBox, chain link fencing and a backyard playhouse with a swing as items that those members "desperately need."

[If you somehow reached this journal entry without reading anything else from the blog, you may not know that] I work with orphans in the Kostroma region of Russia. Although our investments and involvement there have helped improve their situation considerably, they still live in conditions that would appall most Westerners. I have seen desperate need, and I have yet to meet anyone with home internet access who experiences it. 

Let me also say this (lest I appear to be crying "Let them eat cake!"): In years when I did not own a car, I took the bus wherever I needed to go that was too far to walk. I still take the bus to work when time permits. I wash my clothes at a coin laundry. I don't carry a cell phone. I mend my clothes when they're repairable and I knit my own winter stuff. Why? Because, having been raised primarily by a single mother, I grew up just fine without most of those "needs" being met... and consequently, developed a keen awareness of the line that separates necessity from luxury.

"We brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that."  -- Paul The Apostle

My Husband, the Bachelor...

Tonight I learned of the most bachelorish (bacheloresque?) act my husband has committed in more than five years of marriage.

Let me start by saying, he does replace the empty toilet paper roll and consistently puts the seat down, so he isn't going up the river for this one offense, even if could have been a pretty major one...

I made a casserole to take to my dad's house. I brought the leftovers home covered in plastic wrap and set the dish in the refrigerator. To be more specific, I made that casserole to take to my dad's house, brought the leftovers home and set the dish in the refrigerator... on Thanksgiving  Day.

Yesterday Mr. Nygren got hungry, looked  into the refrigerator and saw something he didn't have to cook. He pulled the plastic off the casserole dish, and ...
1)  He stuck his fork straight into the dish (see Drinking From the Milk Carton);
2) He put a forkful of the [now somewhat cider-scented] casserole in his mouth.

This would be a misdemeanor in most households, I imagine... the degree of offense, however, escalated when his taste buds told him what his wife already knew. It was at this point that...
3) He hastily deposited the aforementioned mouthful of casserole back into the casserole dish; and
4) He put the dish back into the refrigerator.

Now then, being the one who cooks, I knew how old that casserole was and had mentally slated it for the disposal nearly a week ago... so it isn't that I was in any danger of eating sour (or possibly sour and  briefly chewed) leftovers. Truth be known, it's the fact that I couldn't stop laughing once he explained the previous day's events that spared him a harsher punishment... because really, I think he's suffered enough.