Reflections of a Can Collector

I've been enjoying a somewhat new hobby: collecting cans and bottles with CRVs (California Redemption Values). I do this as I also take long walks in pursuit of reaching at least 9,500 steps per day, which has become easily surpassable now. Each day I think of a new path or destination for my walk, letting the plan remain completely fluid - a principle I am applying to almost everything now.

The cans and bottles are for a man who comes in his fuel-inefficient white van each Tuesday to collect recyclables we and others in the neighborhood set aside for him, or that he can find in blue bins he dares to check. I have a feeling his family depends on the number of recyclables he collects each week, and I am happy to contribute to his collection, knowing what it is like to be poor.

Today, needing to mail a card to my Mom for Mother's Day, I decided to walk to a Brentwood post office. And, since it is the Saturday after a long week of staring at my computer screen to approve students into a secure portal for state testing - literally staring for about 7 hours/day in case a student pauses or gets kicked out and needs to be repeatedly approved.... I decided to treat myself to a mocha at Starbucks across the street from the post office.

I brought a book, so that I could also enjoy sitting and reading, while sipping my mocha. It doesn't get much better than that.

By the time I reached the post office and then Starbucks, I had about half-filled a 13-gallon trash bag I had brought with me. The bottles and cans I had found had mostly been thrown to the side of the road, of little value to most Angelenos in the area. I set the rather precious collection down outside of Starbucks, near a table, ordered my mocha, washed my hands in Starbucks, picked up my liquid treat, and returned outside to my bag of bottles and the chair and table next to it.

Directly behind me, a father and son were talking at an adjacent Starbucks table. I appreciated the honesty and rawness of their conversation - having raised our kids in a home where, based on my husband's expectations and rules, "Yes, Mommy" and "Yes, Daddy" were nearly the only approved responses from our kids... even when they reached adulthood, a requirement I could never agree with, finding it toxically rigid, prescribed, and insincere. This father and son got heated, yet remained secure with each other, throughout their discussion.

The son was complaining to his dad about the level of responsibility he felt he was bearing at a mere age of 21. The dad was arguing with him that his son didn't need to worry so much about everything, that he wanted his son to just be happy and enjoy life. He assured his son that even if they made no more money, they had enough for the father, son, and "Brian" - whoever that is - to have $100,000 per month for the rest or their lives.

They were clearly close and honest with each other (or, at least, honest enough for the son to tell the father to quit lying) and they were also quite clearly unhappy. Expletives about life and each other punctuated many of their sentences. The son kept listing all of the rents he had recently raised on various tenants of their many properties, some rents raised 60% in just one year. The dad kept trying to calm the son down, telling him not to just think about "money, money, money," while thanking him and promising additional commission for the son's good work increasing the family income by successfully raising tenants' rent: a wireless store, dance studio, and many other businesses the son named.

I tried to keep focusing on reading (a precious book by Ron Cantor called When Shepherds Prey), while also trying to process the figures this father and son were discussing and to contain my absolute bewilderment, trying to figure out why anyone would need $100,000 per month.

Eventually, I decided to gather up my bag of bottles and cans, my book, and my remaining mocha, and to walk home. Before heading off, I checked the trashcan near the tables where I and that dad and son were sitting, in case some cans or bottles were on the top of the pile and seemed clean enough for me to touch. There were 4 or 5 items, and I picked them up and poured out the expensive water still in several of them, adding them to my collection. I looked into the sad, empty eyes of the father who had promised his son $100,000 per month for the rest of his life, and walked away, feeling so blessed and happy to be me.

Compare today's adventure with last Saturday, when I walked through the VA property to print an apartment application out at FedEx Kinkos. Halfway or so through my walk, I had already completely filled the 13-gallon trash bag with crushed aluminum cans and plastic bottles, as well as weightier glass bottles. I realized it would be a long walk to Kinkos and then home, and that it would feel like a much longer walk, since the bag had grown quite heavy. Mid-way through the VA property, I saw an older man, likely a veteran, with a grocery cart, emptying and crushing cans and bottles, like I had been doing.

I approached him and asked if he wanted my bag of redeemable recyclables. He eagerly accepted my offer. As I walked away, I heard a joyous "Praise the Lord!" - and turned and saw that very happy man with whom I was blessed to share, his head lifted to the sky. I said, loud enough for him and a few others nearby to hear, "Amen!" and walked away smiling, grateful to pass the burdensome bag on to someone with a cart, and excited to see what new cans and bottles I had yet to find on that walk.

I eventually returned home with 17,000 steps showing on my pedometer, two more bags filled with recyclables which I eagerly placed in our yard to await their intended recipient.

Each new adventure gives me time to reflect, makes my heart so happy, and helps my body and mind to grow healthier from the little profit of exercise.

"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God,"Jesus said (Luke 6:20).