thank you for your help
Non-fiction / 1999 (Analysis)
Concoction of Charity
It was cold and nearing Christmas. Dry snow flakes, the minuscule white ball type, like stuffing from an old toy bear, were in loose, moving piles at the side of the road. Each passing car disturbed the piles. Snow was getting caught up in the wind from the cars and the steady bitter breeze that blew, and like dust, was scattered about heedlessly. Clouds filled the sky, back lit by the bright but hidden sun, causing each gray cloud to have silver, shining outline, like tree ornaments. This weather was more than hinting at what the coming months would feel like and set the tone for the upcoming holiday. However it was still a dry dusting with very little accumulation. We could be grateful for that.
We were preparing for our usual outing to visit with family for the holiday. It was a drive of about six hours from our house to the home I grew up in. The trip required a little planning, and once we arrived, we usually stayed for a few days. My children were nine and ten years old.
At one point during the past year, in the usual travels of our daily life, I noticed that there was a woman living in the woods a couple of towns away from ours, near the shopping center where we purchased our groceries. She kept herself well hidden and low profile. But I had noticed her and kept a casual watch out for her when I was in her neighborhood. Her home was in the circle of a roadway cloverleaf. The on ramp to a highway formed a perfect circle. Inside the large circle was overgrowth of trees and brush. There was often trash about this area, hub caps that had fallen off, dunkin donut cups and a shopping cart. Now I understood some of the trash.
Her ability to maintain herself was a curiosity. People drove by her “home” all day long, never noticing her. They were, in all likelihood, too busy to notice, or too selfish, too preoccupied or some combination thereof. People who paid hundreds of dollars over the course of the year to have, for instance, their nails perfectly painted, drove by in shiny, large cars. These folks were not looking for the homeless, or thinking about them much. Our generation packs schedules as full as possible, feeling out of sorts or less than worthy without a pressing to-do list. Maybe it is just an inability to be alone, to be quiet or peaceful, an indication of our collective and gaping insecurity that makes us move so. The contrast of her life to this modern life was fascinating. Deep down, I miss the “old” life, without the driving, the shopping and the schedule. Deep down, I am envious of someone who can survive by her wits in this world. Deep down, I think she is stronger than the rest of us and even possibly wiser. Deep down, she has made decisions for herself and lived them.
Our family was no different than this “Oh-I-am-so-busy” Generation (always said like a martyr but really as a brag or badge of honor). But we decided to think of our homeless friend this Christmas. We got a large, white bucket that had a cover and filled it with things that did not require a can opener. Soup cans that could be opened with a pull tab. Potato chips that came in a canister with a lid. Cookies that could be closed back up to stay fresh. A jar of sauce for pasta. Jars of fruit. Cans of tuna. Sardines. We filled the bucket. The bucket could be re-used as both a chair and as a storage container. My daughter made a beautiful card and like all projects she had worked on in her school years, she signed her name. I did not want to convey prejudice, or ruin what I selfishly, even vainly, fancied a teaching moment, but I told her we did not want strangers knowing our names. So, we added a “ski” on the end of the name – Lipmanski.
The car was packed with our Christmas gifts for the family, our luggage, and food for the six hour drive. Plus, the bucket food for our friend.
We drove the part of the cloverleaf where she lived. It is wooded and her tent and camp carefully concealed. As we rounded the curve, she was standing there in her sturdy workboots, and practical, somewhat dusty, brown winter coat. We were shocked and dismayed, only having anticipated dropping the bucket for her, not actually speaking with her. I stopped the car, rolled down the window, and said, “We have a Christmas gift for you.” She began to yell, “I can’t accept any gifts, just go on and get out of here.” As she said this, her arms were moving wildly and she appeared very angry, her face scrunched with pain. She seemed to be somewhat insane, or perhaps, on later reflection, perfectly sane having shunned do-gooders and productive society because of its many, many flaws. But I did not know how to stop my mission. “Ok, well, have a Merry Christmas”, I said and drove off, the window rolling up in slow motion. “What are we going to do now, Mom?” Ben asked me. “We are driving around again and dropping it off”, I said calmly, not to be outdone by a homeless woman, not to be set adrift by someone who I had decided to foist my charity upon, someone I had decided to use as a tool to teach my children about being a good and generous person.
We drove around the circle, and at the part where she could not see us, opened the door and gently put the bucket of gifts on the grass strip.
As we drove away, Ben asked me “Mom, what happens if she chokes on one of the potato chips? If after all of these years of surviving in the wild, you killed her?”
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trident reviewed Version 1 -
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An interesting anecdote, but a little anticlimactic for a work of non-fiction.
What about wondering if she even found it further up the road, or worrying if another car stopped and picked up the bucket. Since it’s fiction (even if based in reality) how about her driving by and seeing the bucket with a thank you note stuck to it.
Also – the meeting was almost too flippant – this was the crux of the whole story, and she didn’t even try to foist the bucket off (possibly have it angrily rejected).
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Matthewtuckey reviewed Version 1 -
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Good opening. Engaging and vivid.
‘Each passing car’- this sentence is a little short. I was wondering if it could be connected to the others and flow a little?
‘have silver’- ‘have a silver’, as you’re referring to each cloud.
‘well hidden and low profile’- They’re pretty much the same- i’d say you can pick one.
I’m not too up on American road layouts (I’m from the UK) so I don’t quite get the ‘roadway cloverleaf’.
Do hub caps ‘fall off’? they usually come off at speed, so ‘spun off’ might be better.
‘People who paid hundreds of dollars’- I like this line, but it needs tweaking a little. You say ‘for instance, to have thier nails painted’. You give a specific example but you don’t generalise beforehand and say something like ’...dollars on unessentials and luxuries, like manicures…’ This just indicates that it’s the kind of thing they would buy. We might spend hundreds of dollars on gas, even if we’re poor. Because we need it and it’s expensive.
out-of-sorts and less-than-worthy… hyphenate like this maybe? I had to read it a few times, as ‘feeling out’ is a well used phrase that I confused with yours.
‘I miss the “old” life,’- so did you used to live in a secluded place like the woman?
By saying Merry Christmas and driving off, you DID stop your mission. So that para could be rearranged. You ‘hadn’t planned for rejection’, maybe.
New para for each time the person speaking changes.
Funny ending! Like it!
Bladefella reviewed Version 1 -
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Very good descriptions in the beginning and I like How this persons personality is is inserted by what they beleive about the world today. And it’s nice how this woman is generious and decides to help someone who’s homeless but the homeless person is to proud and I find that funny and at the end it’s kind of morbid and a little funny.
Ajax_Skreitzche reviewed Version 1 -
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not sure if you specifically sent this to me or just my stats that brought it my way, but in order to do what youre asking, which, by the way, is a very broad stroke, i must rework the piece and give it back to you so that you can do comparison and contrast. truthfully, the term you use in the request, “better”, is only ever going to be a relative assertion. always in the mind’s eye of the beholder, so to speak.
regardless, being that the formatting will not hold when pasted to this site, it would be of benefit to you to send me an email addy and open the document with ms word 2007 or better.
this is what i tinkered with so far…
It was cold and nearing Christmas.
The sky was a shimmering silver blanket of cloud, back-lit by the bright but hidden sun, causing each gray cloud to have a outline, like tree ornaments.
A steady and bitter breeze blew.
At the side of the road, loose piles of dry snow—the minuscule white ball type—were moved like bits of fluff from an old stuffed toy. With each passing car, the snow would be caught-up and, like so much dust, scattered about heedlessly and redeposit elsewhere.
Still… It was still a just a dusting. Very little accumulation.
We could be grateful for that. We were grateful for that.
This weather was more than a hint of what the coming months would be like and was already setting the tone for the upcoming holiday.
We were enroot to our usual outing. To visit with family for the holiday. It was a drive of about six hours, from our house, to the home I grew up in. The trip always required planning because, once we arrived, we usually stayed a few days.
My children were nine and ten years old – (not sure about this line placement yet, or the transition into the body of the material, just leaving it for the mome.) At one point in the past year, during the travels of daily life, I noticed a woman, living in the woods. It was couple of towns away, near the shopping center where we purchased our groceries.
if this meets with your objectives let me know.
peace
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