A Success of a Failure

I have been involved in our local free legal clinics for most of the almost 23 years they have been in existence. I have been an attorney, an intake clerk, a cook, a baker, and an attorney herder—in short, a little bit of everything over the years. From a small, once-a-month evening clinic, we have expanded in multiple directions, including my favorite project, our partnership with the Ohio Justice Bus program, focusing in our community on family law.

As the needs grow and our attorney population ebbs and flows, several of us are always looking for ways to thank the volunteers we have and recruit new ones. What better way than to hold an informal reception at Andrews House, an important community center under whose umbrella the clinics have been since their long ago start?

We were not unlike the anecdotal Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland line: "Hey, kids, let's put on a show!"

The invitation above went out to the bar in numerous channels. It went to members of our local bar association in several emails, to past and present volunteers, and, in some cases, I personally followed up with an email or personal conversation: please come to the reception.

I offered to buy food trays for the reception. That would be my personal contribution. I also made plans to come early to help set up and stay late to help clean up. So Wednesday morning I headed out to the store.

How much to buy? Who knew? We hoped we'd have 30 or more attorneys show up. So I, ummm, bought a lot. A. Lot. Veggie trays, fruit trays, meat/cheese trays. Cookies. Oh, some salsa and corn chips too. I guessed at how much we might need if we got a "good" turnout.

Warren winced when I told him how much I had spent. He said he wished I had taken him with me, as he thought he could help me keep the quantities in more realistic measure and that would have saved some of the expense too.

I agreed to a point. Then I said, "Yes, it was a lot. But I look at it this way. I don't shop for clothes. Or home decor. I rarely buy books, using the library instead. I don't buy jewelry or take trips or go to the movies or eat out. So I'm very happy to spend money for this reception so Andrews House doesn't have to." 

When I got to Andrews House later that afternoon, Mel (Melinda) and Shelly had already set out tablecloths and plates and such in the dining room. I'd brought the food trays earlier that day, and now we pulled them out of the fridge (Andrews House has a commercial kitchen, so a huge fridge) and decided what to set out. 

How about this one? Can you open this? Here's a small bowl for salsa and a large one for chips. Cookies can go on this platter.

In short order, we were ready. We were excited. We were hoping we'd soon be welcoming colleagues and volunteers. And...

Well, let's just say that there was not a mad rush to get to our reception. Or any rush at all. Not counting me, Mel, or Shelly, we had 12 total. 12. No new volunteer possibilities. Only two of our regular attorney volunteers (okay, three if you count me) came.

But there was lots of food. Don't forget the food.

But you know what? The reception was a smash. Yes, we got very few of our regulars and, obviously, no new volunteers. But there was great talk and laughter and stories and snacking. (Remember, there was a lot of food. A. Lot.) 

New connections were made. One of our regulars gave his card to a summer intern and urged her to call his office and connect with his young associate to talk about probate work. She was thrilled. A connection that meant a lot to me was connecting Sophia, the director of the Ohio Justice Bus program, who stopped in on her way back to Columbus after a long Bus event in a county further north, to our local Domestic Relations judge and his court administrator to talk about the Justice Bus and our DR Court's innovative programs. (I was especially delighted about that one because I had purposely invited that judge and administrator to the reception.)

As the reception wound down, Warren showed up to help with clean up. Some of the food stayed behind and some went home with Mel to share with her husband that night. The rest of it came home with me as we have my brother and sister-in-law here for a few days (to see Dad). As we loaded the last of the food in our car, Mel and I gave each other a huge hug and laughingly agreed that it was not the turnout we'd hoped for but it'd been a lot of fun.

And that's a success in my book any day.

A Long Bus Ride

The Justice Bus in Delaware in April 2025

In May 2024, I wrote about that month's Justice Bus and finding myself in full advising mode because of last-minute and unexpected shortages of our attorney volunteers. 

May 1 was this month's Justice Bus and guess what? 

Yep.

The Ides of March have nothing on our May Justice Bus days.

One of our regular volunteers had an urgent matter come up that forced him to withdraw two days before the May Bus day. I could not find another volunteer to take one session, let alone the four that the attorney who had to step out takes. So I swallowed hard and hoped for no-shows.

We are now in the fourth month of serving hot sandwiches at our Bus sessions and, as the cook, I spent Wednesday cooking (shredded turkey with onions) and making sure I had the other items—napkins, carryout containers, a tablecloth, rolls, and such—ready to go. While I cooked and prepped, I also thought about what the May Justice Bus might hold. We had a solid slate of clients, and I knew of at least one with an unusually complex situation.

Thursday dawned gray and damp. With Warren's assistance (he always shuttles me and the food and helps me get it inside), I arrived early, set up the food table, touched base with Judy, our law librarian, talked with Scott, the Justice Bus staff attorney, and took a deep breath.

The clients started arriving.

Four hours later, Scott and I each finished up within a few minutes of one another, with Scott then helping me sort out a stack of copied court papers for my last client to take with her. Our regular Bus schedule is four sessions of 45 minutes each (three hours), starting at 10:00 a.m. and finishing around 1:00 p.m. This day, because the final two clients had detailed and unusual situations that took extra time, it was a little after 2:00 p.m. before the last two clients exited and we were done.

When we were finished and met back up, Scott had that dazed look one gets from hours of intense focus and I'm sure my face matched his. We were both exhausted. And hungry. Scott immediately made and started eating two sandwiches. He and I talked briefly about a few Bus notes to follow up on, Judy helped pull down signs, Warren (who'd come earlier thinking, as did I, that I would be done earlier, so he had sat and waited) helped me break down and pack away the food, and I took one last circuit through the areas we had used to make sure none of us had left anything behind. Scott packed his gear up, and we followed him out the front doors of the library, waving goodbye to Judy, who was outside collecting the parking cones. Finally, some five and a half hours after I had arrived, I was on my way home (and grateful that we only live four blocks away).

I am writing this Friday night. I am still tired. It was a long Bus day. Not counting the Bus, there are a lot of extra matters piled on my plate right now, so that adds to the tiredness. Oh, and let's not forget my feet! I am on Stage 2 of what we (my podiatrist and I) hope will only be a four stage process to get them back to functional capacity. (Stay tuned!)

But—and this is from the heart—it was a GREAT Bus day. Any day I can work alongside friends and colleagues to help strengthen this community—with legal advice, with food, with listening, with our presence—is a great day.

P.S. As I looked back at the May 2024 post before posting this, I scrolled down and saw that I had posted a photo of the first spiderwort of 2024, noting that it had bloomed three days earlier. I started laughing. Just yesterday I took a photo of the first spiderwort of 2025! 

And here it is:

Some things are just meant to be! 

And Just Like That

After several days of going back and forth in my mind, I finally took the plunge,  deactivating my Facebook account and canceling my longstanding subscription to the New York Times on the same day.

And just like that, I felt better. 

Let me peel those two activities apart: Facebook first, then the Times.

My Facebook friends span the political spectrum from way left to way right. I have not unfriended any folks for their voting choices. Ever. Period. For the record, I have very close friends and family, near and dear to my heart, who vote very differently from me. They are not the reason I deactivated my Facebook page. 

I deactivated my Facebook page because of the friends with whom I share many similar political views (liberal, to say the least). I know how I feel about the current administration. I strongly feel our nation and our democracy is at risk, and, at a personal level, that my family members and I are at risk. That being said, I don't need to be shrieked out several times a day with posts about what the Orangeman said, what his administration is doing, and how outraged I should feel. I am beyond tired of living in an echo chamber. 

And just like that, I was out of the echo chamber. 

Stepping away from the New York Times was a different decision involving a lot of moving parts. One, Warren had stopped reading it much at all months ago because of overloads on his personal time; he had (still does) more pressing matters to deal with. Looking back, I realized I had pared way way way back on how much I read it. So neither of us were getting much out of it. Two, there were the recent editorial losses: longtime columnist Paul Krugman left because the management was leaning on him heavily with edits he could not tolerate; Charles Blow left to take a prestigious fellowship at Harvard but also because of management leaning on him; Peter Coy (my favorite economist ever) left saying he was "retiring" but I wonder if it was more than that. Three, yes the overload. The overload the  overload the overload. Four, the cost. If we were reading it more regularly, I wouldn't look hard at that cost, but for not reading it, yeah, it's a tad pricey. I was paying $25.00 every four weeks, or $325.00 a year. That's way more than a lot for a subscription we were not using. (Interesting now that I have canceled, when I do open it while our current paid subscription time runs, they are offering me a full subscription at $1.00/week.) So I canceled my subscription.

And just like that, I didn't have to keep up with the newspaper anymore.

I let Ben and Alix know about both decisions.  (Sam eschews social media, so he is not worrying about whether his mom is on Facebook.) Because of Alix's job, he has to follow the national press, but he totally got my reasoning.  Ben's response was even more direct:  "The media cycle is overwhelming and all the outrage in the world isn't getting anything done." 

That comment about outrage not getting anything done struck home. Where I can make a difference is here locally, which is why I posted a photo of a slow food cooker at the start of this blog. Yes, the hot sandwiches to go program at the Justice Bus is running well. We just repeated it for our March Bus. My next door neighbors have started supplying the Bus with fresh-baked (as in "just this morning") sourdough loaves. Trust me, warm food, a loaf of bread, and welcoming our clients are all needed right here, right now. So when I arrived to set up for the Bus Thursday, I posted this sign:

And this one:

And just like that, we were off and running. 

We do not ask clients their political views before assisting them; hard times do not care about your voting pattern. As a long-ago, long-deceased friend reminded me back in the late 1970s (a lifetime ago) when we discussed activism, "April, it's hard to show up for a rally or a protest meeting when you are working two jobs and trying to keep a roof over your head." I feel that neither major party cares about poverty—food insecurity, hunger, housing insecurity, homelessness, medical care—because at the top, they do not have to worry about doing without. (Who do I agree with most of this topic? Matthew Desmond, author of Evicted and Poverty, By America. Here is a very recent appearance by Desmond on the Daily Show talking about poverty and our abysmal record in this nation: just watch it.)

From time to time, I will still check in on Facebook because there are a few family members I only see photos of on Facebook. It amuses me that the only person who has contacted me about not being on Facebook is a cousin whose minster's wife (a high school classmate of mine) reached out to her to make sure I was okay because she was thinking of me and couldn't find me. (For the record, my cousin and our mutual connection do not share my political views.) That just reinforced my thoughts about the echo chamber: if all one does is screech, one does not see the community. So I emailed my cousin an update and told her to share my note with our friend.

And just like that, I went on with my day.

The Justice Bus in Delaware 

Yesterday was a day I could not have foreseen under any circumstances. I won't call it a bad day: it wasn't. But it was certainly a challenging day.

Yesterday was the monthly Justice Bus downtown. The Justice Bus is a program of the Ohio Access to Justice Foundation and one that Andrews House, our local community gem, partners with (along with our County Law Library). Having been involved with the various legal clinics at Andrews House for the last 20 years, I am a huge supporter of the Bus and am the Bus attorney wrangler. That means I send out calls for attorneys to volunteer 45 minutes of their time advising low-income clients (household income has to be 300% or less than the Federal Poverty Guidelines). We run four sessions back to back once a month; our Bus focuses on family law issues running the spectrum from divorce questions to custody to child support and beyond. 

Our volunteers are fantastic, period. They give their time, in person or by Zoom; they commit to show up month after month; and you can see the change on clients' faces when they walk out of their sessions having been given some direction and advice on their problem.

I always double-check with the attorneys the Monday before the Bus to make sure they are still available. These are attorneys with active practices, some of them practicing solely in domestic relations, which is a very fluid arena. An emergency hearing may come up since the attorney committed to a Bus date, for example. Again, all part of my taking care of our volunteers.

We knew coming into the May Bus day that we were thin on attorneys as a few of our regulars had conflicts. Tuesday I got an email from one that he had to schedule a client meeting for Thursday. I totally understood. I emailed Shelly and Mel at Andrews House, who prescreen the clients and set the schedule (walk-ins are heavily discouraged because we cannot guarantee an attorney will be available), and asked them what the presenting issues were in that time slot. (I try not to advise, but can in a pinch. This was a pinch.) There was a matter I felt comfortable with, told Mel to slot me in, and we'd see each other Thursday. 

Thursday I arrived early at the Law Library to talk with my friend, boon companion, and, incidentally, the Law Librarian, Judy. The Bus, which comes from Columbus, had not yet arrived; it was running a little later than usual. Not a problem. When I saw it pull up,  I walked down to greet the team. Plural. Instead I saw the Program Manager, Meredith, all by herself. Singular. I knocked on the window and asked, "Uh, so where is Scott?" 

Scott, it turned out, had texted Meredith that morning to say he was sick and could not work. He is an attorney and we had slated him to meet with clients. Now we had a hole. A big hole. One that Meredith, who is not an attorney, could not fill. 

I swallowed hard, looked at Mel, who had just arrived and learned the news, and said, "Show me the clients and I will advise the ones I can."

Which is exactly what I did for the rest of the morning into early afternoon.  I ran on only 2 small bottles of water and no break and no food and....yeah. Don't get me wrong: I was so very grateful I could serve but dang, that was a huge hit on my energy. By the time the last client finished (my last client talked a lot. A. LOT.) and the paperwork was finished, it was 1:30 (we usually finish around 1:00). Both Mel and I said our goodbyes and thanks to Judy and Meredith, stumbled out of the Law Library, and walked together towards our respective homes. After she turned left to her house, I walked another very slow 2+ blocks to mine. 

Very. Slow. 

No surprise, I was pretty wiped out for the rest of the day and the evening. Our household has been on overload for weeks now on all fronts; yesterday's Bus was overload in a way I had not expected. But I read thoughts in two other blogs I follow that helped put my day in perspective.

The first was from Sam, who blogs at Sam Squared. In summing up her week's thriftiness, she spoke about a couple of things that were not frugal, but then said, "[b], everything spent was for good purpose, so I guess that meets my definition of thrift." 

"Spent for good purpose." I like that. I knowingly spent my energy past my limits yesterday, but it was for a very good purpose, and I can accept that. These clients are in circumstances that are rarely pleasant, and sometimes (and this was the case yesterday with one I met with) that make anything I am dealing with, including my health, feel like I have riches beyond riches. 

The other comment came from Chris, who blogs at Tahoe Girl. On Thursday, she posts a "Thankful Thursday" post and her most recent one contained this gem: "Having gratitude for the small things in life, I think, makes all the difference in the world."

That, too, applies to yesterday's Bus experience. Grateful because it was the first Bus I have been well enough to attend (except for a cameo appearance in December) since August 2023. Grateful that I was able to walk home, however slowly, afterwards. Grateful for my friends and colleagues. Okay, maybe those are not all small things in life, but given that this blog is titled "Small Moments of Great Reward," I totally agree about gratitude making all the difference in the world. 

And, for one such small moment of gratitude and great reward, the spiderwort is blooming. The first bloom was three days ago; today, there are several. 

The first spiderwort of 2024

I am grateful I am here to see them return. 

Still Picking Up The Pieces

For the last few weeks, I have been sorting through the tangible personal property (to use a legal phrase) of Aunt Ginger's life. I had weeded out a lot of items ranging from knickknacks and furniture to kitchenware and linens when she moved from her apartment of almost 40 years to assisted living 18 months ago, and then downsized her belongings again when she moved from assisted living to memory care. All the same, there was a surprising number of items yet to move to our house and sort through.

Some items were easy to move to new homes. Ginger collected angels for many years and wanted friends and family to take one with them after her death. So we set them out at the gathering we held in her memory with this sign:

By the end of the evening, the last angel flew out the door.

Other items required more careful sorting. Ginger had a desk (which went to my brother per her wishes and her will, which will likely not be probated at any point), but I had to empty it out first. That proved to be fun. 50+ pencils, many of them promotional, many of them unsharpened: into the box of Goodwill items. 20+ small, blue, ancient rubber bands, all at the point of crumbling: trash. Mementos from family events: an article about my brother, my son Benjamin's high school graduation program: those will go to the individuals featured (sorry, Ben). Opened envelopes from cards sent years ago (without the cards): recycling.

And then there were the clothes.

Ginger owned lots of clothes. Lots and lots. She took excellent care of her clothes and so items often lasted for decades. But she also liked to shop for clothes. She was never a spendthrift or very extravagant, everything she owned was probably bought on sale or secondhand, but over the last few decades her wardrobe grew.

And grew.

And grew.

When I brought home the remaining clothes, the ones from the dresser and the ones from the closet, I had to use two beds in two separate bedrooms to accommodate them all. It was not unlike the scene in An Old-Fashioned Girl (one of Louisa May Alcott's books) in which Polly performs a thrifty makeover of Fan's wardrobe: Fanny brought out her "rags" and was astonished to see how many she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maude, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, "Here's another!" 

For the first few weeks, the clothes just sat in heaps and bundles. I had other matters demanding my attention and, honestly, my heart wasn't ready to deal with the clothing. But finally the disorder overcame my reluctance, and I started folding and sorting and washing (some pieces had dried food and other stains on them; I treated and washed those out, throwing away only the few that would not come clean). Garbage bags piling up on the floor of my study replaced the heaps of clothing.

We have a local community agency, Common Ground Free Store Ministries, which is exactly what it sounds like. It is a free store, free to all, open to all. It opened 12 years ago to serve our community with this mission: It's amazing how something as simple as providing clothing and household items to people in need can help open new doors in their lives. We provide a place to meet everyday needs for the people of Delaware. 

What better place to donate Ginger's clothes? And it was even more fitting because the store is located on the East side of our town (the "other" side of town) only three blocks from where Ginger (and all her siblings) grew up (as did I and my siblings until I was in high school) and where Ginger lived until she was almost 50.

This was my car back seat and trunk this morning before I left:

A half-full backseat...

...and a FULL trunk! 

(The red coat just visible in the back of the trunk was Ginger's favorite. It was a number of years old and in immaculate condition. I hope to see it again on someone else around town!)

It took me a good ten or more minutes to unload my car when I got to Common Ground. When I was through, my car looked like this:

My backseat is back again! 

And so is my trunk! 

 I spoke with one of the volunteers as I unloaded and told her the source of the clothing. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she said. "I am too," I said. "But trust me, my aunt would be thrilled to know her stuff will be going to others who can use it."

And she would have been.

And so am I.

Acquiring a Teacher

Vijay Gupta, from his website 

When we were in Chicago in June at the national conference of the League of American Orchestras, the keynote opening speaker was Vijay Gupta, an extraordinary individual by any measurement. His topic was social justice in the music world, and he spoke at length about his ideas of what that means and what it looks like and about Street Symphony, an organization he helped found that works alongside and with the Los Angeles Skid Row community.

I was blown away by Gupta. (So were  a lot of others in attendance, judging by the faces around me and the comments afterwards, including those from Warren.) I was so rapt that I didn't take notes, just listened. I was so impressed that I jettisoned one interesting sounding breakout session the next day to attend one with him. (And was blown away again.) And I was so moved by what he had to say that, when walking to a session following the opening keynote address, I saw Gupta and League CEO Jesse Rosen exit a side room, I cut Rosen off mid-sentence, saying "I'm sorry, but this is more important," and thanked Gupta for what he said. (He was wonderfully gracious, thanked me for my kind words, and, the next day, when I walked into the breakout session, smiled broadly and said "Hello again!")

In short, Gupta's vision and philosophy and engagement in the world outside the concert hall made a huge impression on me. Warren and I have talked about it at length in relationship to the Symphony and the community engagement work he does with and through the orchestra. I have thought about Gupta's comments in relationship to the Legal Clinic and our community of clients.

Gupta's vision has caused me to reflect on the population we serve at Legal Clinic: not only who we serve but also how we serve them. When we come together each month, we are engaging in what Gupta calls "radical mutuality" and "radical intimacy." I think of not only the clients we serve, but other members of our community who come not for legal advice but for a warm meal and some social contact. We strive to treat everyone who comes through our door with dignity and respect, knowing that for many clients just opening that door is a huge and often intimidating leap of trust. Gupta understands—deeply and passionately—that those "others," those denizens of Skid Row in his case, those clients we work with in ours, are us. They. Are. Us. It is not about Gupta "dissipating" his considerable musical talent on the "musical equivalent of a soup kitchen or legal clinic," as someone said to me. It is not about our volunteers squandering their time and talent on "those people." It is about creating safe space—a sanctuary—and all coming together in that space.

The Talmud directs me to acquire a teacher, and if at age 62, I have acquired a 30-year-old wunderkind as my teacher, well, isn't that great?

Grateful For Those Who Open The Door

Back in 2009, in my very first post, I wrote about opening doors: to the world, to pain, to community. The jumping off point was a favorite quote from I Heard the Owl Call My Name, a beautiful, small novel by Margaret Craven. The novel is about a terminally ill young priest serving a Native village on a coastal inlet in the Canadian Northwest. There is only one other white person there, the government-hired teacher who doesn't want to be there. After the priest is killed in a landslide, the villagers wait for his body to be found and returned for burial:

The village was waiting and listening, and it was the children who heard first the canoes coming up the river, and they ran down the main path calling “They come now. They bring him now.”

In his tiny house the teacher heard the running footfalls on the path to the riverbank, and he went quickly to the door and could not open it. To join the others was to care, and to care was to live and to suffer.

I recently had an unsettling conversation with a very close friend who, while not dismissive of my activities, made it clear that she had not been and would never be involved in her own community. There were lots of reasons why, some of them personal that demanded much of her, but the foundation was simply "I'm not putting myself out."

She could not begin to open the door.

Me?  I open the door every chance I get.

Thursday just past two coworkers and I had a lengthy discussion about some of the juveniles with whom we work. Many of our kids have backstories that are sobering, to say the least. After we finished talking about two in particular and the hurdles facing them, there was a long silence. Then I said, "I love this job and it breaks my heart over and over." The other two agreed.

We're all door openers—those two colleagues and I—along with other coworkers. As our court administrator has observed, none of us are doing this work for the money. My friends and colleagues at Legal Clinic likewise are door openers. So are all the people in this community who give time and themselves to our community, be it with the Symphony, our Farmers Market, food pantries, and other such projects. We do this work because when we hear those footfalls on the path, we go quickly to the door and open it wide to join the others.

I'm grateful for the door openers.

Loose Ends

It is a rainy, gray Saturday here and I have spent most of it inside the house doing small chores. I just sent off an email to some of our attorney volunteers at the monthly Legal Clinic. In Ohio, volunteers may earn CLE (continuing legal education) credits for their time, but the Clinic administrators (of which I am one) must keep records of the attorney's time. We have our attorneys sign in and out for each clinic: a simple, serviceable method. As the end of the year nears and our reporting is due in early 2018, I have gone back through the records and found a spot here and there where the attorney marked his or her time, but failed to sign out.

So there's a loose end: get those signatures.

I have a stack of papers on my desk that I am going through. I try to keep my desk surface relatively tidy, but admit I have let the stack get too tall. Much of it can be recycled, some of it needs filed away.

Another loose end: get rid of the papers.

If I don't stay on top of the paper flow, too much paper piles up on my desk and I end up moving some of the stack to the guest bed in my study. As I look sideways at what is on the bed right this moment, I realize (not for the first time) that the whole bed is one big collection point.

A BIG loose end: make the bed reemerge.

I suffer from the common condition of hanging onto papers way too long. Hard copies or electronic documents: they clog my study and my files and my computers. I am not talking about Important Papers or Family Records. I am talking about, to look at a loose handful, a water bill (paid), a program from a colloquium that has a book title scrawled across it (the only reason I kept the program) that I meant to look up in the library but have not, and a notice urging my Aunt Ginger to take advantage of a special offer to renew her subscription to Woman's Day magazine RIGHT NOW.  For the record, Aunt Ginger has a subscription current through March of 2019. Yes, 2019. The woman is 88 years old. Unbeknownst to me when she moved into assisted living earlier this year and I took over all of her affairs, she had been blithely resubscribing to most of her magazines every time they sent a notice, even if she had just resubscribed. They will all expire eventually, but so will Aunt Ginger.

That's a whole bunch of loose ends and writing it out reminds me I should call the funeral home and make some prearrangements. We have had two hospitalization scares lately, and while Aunt Ginger bounced out of both, I know the day will come when there is no return.

Another loose end: make funeral arrangements.

I am laughing at myself as I type these out. These are all first world problems of the highest order. Not to mention problems of someone with some fair amount of privilege in that I have the means to sit here musing about this. I am privileged that I get to spend a rainy Saturday noodling around in my study instead of having to work a shift at Wal-Mart or one of the local groceries or fast food joints around town. Privilege, or the lack thereof, poverty, hunger, income equity: good lord, I could drift off on that line and not get anything done in this study the rest of the day.

So let me turn my thoughts back to the task at hand. The pile on the desk. Back to those loose ends.

Inch One Hundred Fifty: December Legal Clinic

We wrapped up the 2016 year at the Legal Clinic this past Tuesday. It was a quiet night; the weather or the holidays or both may have kept clients away. All the same, we had volunteers showing up to advise, to assist, and to just be there. At one point in the evening, we had one volunteer playing Christmas music on the piano, three lawyers sharing tips and suggestions, and a young mother and her little girl eating a late supper at a nearby table.

One of the things I do after every Clinic is send out a thank you email to the volunteers. We are a unique model in that we do not have a board, do not have funding, and rely solely on volunteers to make this thing work. I try hard to make sure I let those who serve know how much they are appreciated.

This is the email I sent out:

One and all:

We finished the year with 219 clients, not counting phone clients. I have not been tracking phone clients (ones that a volunteer talks to when there is a burning issue and no Clinic anytime soon). IF we had 10 phone clients in 2016, and we may well have, then we have served 2500 clients since starting in October 2003. (Given that some early records are missing, I think it is safe to say we have sailed past that benchmark.)

Well done, everyone. Your time and commitment make Delaware a richer, more inclusive community. I especially appreciate that we all come together--tired from work, from life, from chemo, from too much on our personal/professional plates--and willingly set it all aside to do this month after month. 

Some shoutouts for last night's Clinic: Erin and Colin, who accompanied their mother, Karen M. (FOOD), and kept two children of a client wonderfully entertained for almost two hours (including some rollicking rounds of hide-and-seek); Karen M. and Sue P. for a year's worth of hot and delicious meals, including desserts; Doug W. for the concerned, patient look on his face as he crossed the waiting area to grab a handful of tissues to take to a crying client; Kate S. for jumping into Intake (and talking to the aforementioned upset client); Dave H. for taking a seat at the piano and playing Christmas music for us all.

Last night there was a young woman with a little girl--not a client but someone who gets services from Andrews House--and she ended up staying while her little girl ate some of the delicious Karen/Sue offerings. Mom explained to me that her daughter is in daycare about 50 hours a week while mom works (and there are two other older children at home) so they really look for time they can spend together. Mom took home leftovers from Clinic and extras from the Mobile Market; her daughter was ecstatic because we tucked the extra Santa napkins in one of the take-home bags. It made me appreciate how much Andrews House shelters us all, and how our Clinic sometimes serves those who aren't even there for legal advice. 

Thank you for a wonderful 2016. I'm looking forward to working with you all in 2017. 

My email prompted this response from Dave, who was one of the founders of the Clinic as well as the piano player:

Thank you all!

April's email causes my eyes to well up when I think of all that Mel and the Andrews House do for our community and how much this clinic has grown over the years despite having no real, official organizational structure.

At the outset of this endeavor back in 2003, we hoped to see a few clients every month and perhaps give them some direction and advice.  The clinic has now served more than 2,500 clients and routinely more than 200 a year.  It has a grant to allow some outside legal work.  It received another grant to remodel the basement of Andrews House into meeting rooms.  It routinely provides not only legal advice, but also nourishment- of body and soul- to those who come.  And, I like to think that it provides some of that same nourishment to those of us who volunteer there (along with a little CLE credit too!)

I cannot speak for others who were involved in the early days, but I could not have possibly envisioned what the clinic has become through the hard work of you as volunteers and Mel (and Don before her) at Andrews House.  It warms my heart to see it every month.  It strikes me that the clinic works without a formal 'board' or governing structure because it has taken on a life blood of its own- fed by too many volunteers who care too much about it to let it slip in any way.

I'm getting sappy now- but thank you all for your involvement in this project and for improving the lives of people who would otherwise have nowhere to turn to.  

Dave

Dave's email prompted this response from Mel, who is the Executive Director of Andrews House, our home since the Clinic's inception in 2003:

Good Morning all,

I didn’t expect to be so emotional this early in the morning.  I can’t thank you all enough for what you continue to do at the Legal Clinic and for our community.  I ditto Dave & April, the nourishment people receive (for body & soul) at the Legal Clinic, in addition to the legal advice in the kind and generous way you all have, is a such soothing balm to our clients.  It warms my heart every month I witness it.  Thank you for continuing to volunteer and for bringing food and supporting the Legal Clinic.  Andrews House is honored & blessed to be part of it.

Very Merriest Holiday wishes to you!

Mel

And finally this response:

You good people share good words and kind thoughts. Thanks to all of you for sharing your valuable time and abundant talents with those in need. (Those in need include us lawyers, of course!) God bless you wonderful people!

We feel always the spiritual origin and part of the Clinic, but maybe more so at this time of the year. From its very humble beginnings, the Clinic at Andrews House has carried on and been guided by a very clear and simply-stated mission, to help people in need of legal services. The Clinic operated simply. (For example, there used to be no food served!) It still operates pretty simply, but with some nice additions and many more clients and volunteers. The Clinic has grown into an important and valuable community resource (one of many emanating from and nurtured in Andrews House). On Tuesday, I took a moment in the hustle and bustle of the evening to stop and take in what was going on. April captured much of it in her e-mail. Your donations of good food and good cheer, David’s pretty music, and your shared, warm camaraderie, coupled with the concerns, problems, anxieties, and tears presented by clients, made for a poignant time. Apparently, many of us felt that poignancy. You all are doing good work, with simple kindnesses, Andrews House hospitality, and wise legal counsel.

Doug

The world is often a cold, hard place. This Tuesday night, thanks to the open hearts of many, it was a little warmer and a little softer.

Inch Ninety-Eight: 2015 By The Numbers

As we all prepare to wrap up the year, I have whiled away the hours thinking of things I could count for 2015. It turned out to be a fun exercise.

This is what 2015 looked like for me:

Number of blood draws/IV sticks (successful or not): 30 (probably low)

Number of times my new port has already been used to great personal acclaim: 4

Number of trips to Portland, Oregon: 2

Number of trips to Rochester, Minnesota: 2

Number of times I walked through the grounds of the Alamo: 3

Number of states I was in or drove through, not counting Ohio and not counting flyovers: 12 (I had originally posted 11, but Warren reminded me of Iowa)

Number of days old Ben was as of December 16, when he turned 30: 10,958

Number of  days old Sam was of as June 28 when he turned 25: 9132 

Number of days old Ramona will be as of today, December 31: 1217

Number of presidential debates watched this year, either party: 0

Number of bowls of oatmeal eaten for breakfast: 260 (more or less)

Number of batches of biscotti baked for the holidays: 10

Number of pieces of biscotti 10 batches make: Over 800

Number of batches of peanut brittle Warren made for the holidays with his son's help: 3 (plus 1 burned batch)

Number of Preservation Parks out of 9 we have walked in: 3

Number of concerts Warren played in this year (not counting rehearsals): 16

Number of concerts Warren played in that I attended: 13

Number of church services Warren played: 5

Number of church services Warren played that I attended:  4

Number of books I read: Ha! You think I keep track of that?

Number of Legal Clinics held: 12

Number of Legal Clinics at which I volunteered: 11

Number of clients served for the year: 228 (not counting the phone consultations) 

Number of poems written into final draft: 59

Number of poems written still in rough draft: 8

Number of 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles completed: 2

Number of hugs given and received: too many to count

Community

A lot of Facebook friends this month are posting daily notes about what they are thankful for. I'm not one of them, but seeing their comments causes me to keep the question front and center.

For what am I thankful?

Today it is community.

This morning is the annual Kiwanis all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast. Warren and I went; he was having a Symphony meeting afterwards. As we walked towards the doors of the middle school in which the event is held, the question came back to me.

For what am I thankful?

Community.

I am thankful that the greeter was Bob, a longtime friend, who shook Warren's hand and gave me a hug.  I am thankful that I saw Kiwanians Judy and Sharon in the commons, that Jim was behind the cafeteria case helping to serve, that Mary Jean called out "hi, April!" from further back in the kitchen.

Community.

Bob P., who used to run the downtown dime store, was anchoring a table of cronies. Jack, with whom I serve on the city's Civil Service Commission, came by and chatted with us both on his way out. All across the room, I saw familiar faces.

Community.

Community is the young family that had just arrived and the gleeful look in their little boys' eyes as they got into line. Excitement at being there? Or anticipating all the pancakes they could eat?

Community is the high school swim team arriving straight from practice and swelling the line. Their coach is the son of the man who greeted me at the door.

Community is the friends waving across the commons, stopping at one another's tables, hugging someone they haven't seen in awhile.

Community is my making coffee plans with Margo, who was there for the Symphony meeting, and then running into her husband, Gerald, who was there for the pancakes. Gerald and I hugged, we talked, and then he headed inside to eat while I walked home.

I thought about community all the way home. Kiwanis was getting a good turnout today. It would be a good event.

When I was young a half century ago, a neighbor took me and my older brother to the Kiwanis pancake breakfast. Back then it was held in the gym of the junior high. I still remember being awed by the ranks of tables, every seat filled, by the chattering and bustle of so many adults, and by the endless supply of pancakes.

I did not fully realize it at the time, but even then I was impressed by the sense of community. I may not have had a word for it, but even at that young age I had the feeling that these people, these adults, had all come together for some common good.

Community was evident at the pancake breakfast today. It was evident in the large line, in the hugs and calls, in the faces of the Key Club members clearing tables. Community was threaded through the room, binding us together and helping to keep us intact.

As I was leaving, the swim team coach was arriving. His mother had gotten there ahead of him and she had already scanned the room for him before asking, "Where is my son? I see the team, but where is he? He needs to be here!" As I passed Bill, I warned him. "Your mother's already asking where you are. You better get in there!" He laughed and headed inside to join his family, to join his team, and to join his community.

Grace in Motion

Amy wasn't feeling well. She'd been sick off and on for weeks, the glands on one side of her neck were swollen, and she had almost daily severe headaches, not to mention that her inhaler (for asthma) was empty and she couldn't afford the appointment to see the doctor for a new prescription, let alone buy the inhaler afterwards.

Amy is our "almost daughter." Warren and I took her in for ten days three years ago when she fled her dad's house during an altercation, and then I tutored her several times a week for the remainder of the year - her senior year - to help her graduate on time (yes, she did). Amy, who will be 21 this spring, has been a part of our lives ever since and she will call me when life gets too overwhelming. So when she called me Monday night, half crying and worrying aloud about her medical problems, I told her she needed to get to Grace Medical Clinic at Andrews House on Wednesday evening.

A long silence ensued. "Are you going to be there?" Amy knows I work at the Andrews House Legal Clinic, so hoped I worked the medical clinic as well. When I told her no, she hemmed and hawed long enough that I said, gently, "come pick me up and I will go with you."

Grace Medical Clinic, which is held weekly, is in its third year of existence. It is entirely volunteer-driven and free to all. I have known about it since its inception, I have heard glowing descriptions of the work the volunteers do, but accompanying Amy was my first opportunity to see it in action.

What a gift.

Despite arriving some 20 minutes before the official check-in time, Amy and I walked into an already full waiting room. She was #13 on the sign-in list. The woman who held the number one slot had been waiting since 2:00.

Ages ranged from toddlers to seniors. Some were Latino; many were white. There was a family in chairs against one wall: father, mother, and three children, the oldest of whom might have been five. At another chair, a toddler played happily on the floor at his mother's feet, trying to stack nesting cups and making the bright loud sounds of a contented baby.

One patient, an older man, was explaining to another client that he was diabetic and experiencing neuropathy in his feet. "When it gets so far up the leg, they'll take my leg off," he added in a matter of fact tone. There was a couple, perhaps in their sixties, cuddled up on the couch. He had a heavily wrapped arm; she held her stomach.

The set-up crew arrived shortly after Amy and I found seats, and I watched the proceedings with fascination. It was what I always imagined watching a MASH unit set up would be. Within 20 minutes, the dining room was divided into a series of curtained examining rooms. Across the hall, others set up prayer rooms. (Grace Medical Clinic is sponsored by an area church, so offers prayer and counseling to any patients who may want it.) Although I could not see it, further down the hall, yet another team was creating an on-site pharmacy.

Amy was nervous. Amy was tense. Amy was anxious about how long it would take. Amy kept thanking me for being there with her. Amy kept talking.

The evening slowed down. Some volunteers brought in food for the patients, knowing that many of them came straight from work, or otherwise had not eaten. Apples, sloppy Joes, pretzels, bottled water - enough to take the edge off of someone's hunger. There was an announcement that the clinic was short one doctor and one nurse tonight, so they could would not see more than 15 patients that night. Little children - and there were lots of them - grew tired and cranky, then grew contented again. People talked in quiet voices. Children flowed from the waiting room to the makeshift play area (also staffed by volunteers) and then back again to their parents.

Amy got called for a weigh-in and triage. She came back with an indecipherable look on her face. When I asked about it, she replied, slowly, "She was really nice. I didn't know girls my age could treat another girl that nicely."

We waited longer. Patients were called into the examining rooms. Amy ate an apple; I ate some pretzels. We both giggled at the little girl who took a sloppy Joe, then returned it a few minutes later, all the edges nibbled off, and carefully placed it back on top of the pile of sandwiches.

Amy was finally called into the examining room. With the seat beside me empty, Peggy, one of the volunteers, sat down and we started chatting. Peggy has worked with the clinic since its inception. She lived in Columbus, and said she never thought of Delaware as needing a clinic, since the county appears to be so affluent, but how she had quickly changed her perception.

I nodded. "We hide our poverty well," I said, explaining about my involvement with our legal clinic. "And if you're from Columbus, the first thing you see coming this direction is south county, which is where most of the money and big houses are."

We compared notes on clinic operations. I admired the hot food and told Peggy how we did baked goods at our legal clinic. She said this was the first night they had hot sandwiches. Peggy talked about the setup and teardown crews and how they rotate volunteers. I talked about our bank of attorney volunteers.

The evening wore on and more patients left. Members of the teardown crew started trickling in; many of the setup and prayer volunteers, including Peggy and her husband, started leaving.

Close to 9:00, Amy finally appeared. She sat down and said, shyly, that she was going to the prayer counseling area and asked me to go with her. Once there, Amy started crying as she talked about the stress in her life, including the loss of her beloved dog. The prayers were Amy-specific: for strength as her father faces foreclosure and the roof over her head becomes uncertain, for guidance as she looks for work, for direction, for healing her grief. Amy continued to wipe away tears.

Our last stop was at the pharmacy, where she was handed a new inhaler, medication for her infection, and replacement prescriptions. Amy just glowed.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you."

Four hours after we walked in the door, we walked out. On the way to her car, Amy reflected on what she had experienced that night. "I thought they would be rude or make me feel bad for being poor. But they were all so wonderful and caring."

She was quiet for a moment. "I cried in the examining room too," she said. "I never cry. But the nurse who saw me first was so nice and saw me as a person."

For many, a trip to Grace Medical Clinic is a life saving experience. For Amy, it might be a life changing experience. When you grow up in what can at best be called "hard circumstances," and where you are now living life at an even lower level because of the Great Recession, you learn early and quickly that life is hard and people often look right through you because of your poverty. Amy is losing the roof over her head. Her future is so uncertain right now. So she came to Grace Medical Clinic with all her defenses and walls in place, expecting to be treated poorly at worst and brusquely at best. Amy walked out saying "they were so nice, they really cared." She was stunned that the Grace Clinic volunteers treated someone "like her" - someone in need of a helping hand - with dignity and kindness.

The Grace Medical Clinic is a gift in the midst of our community. The volunteers, medical and lay people alike, are passionate about this mission. Their faith shines through in their actions, their smiles, and their gentleness. They are the embodiment of Kahlil Gibran's saying that "work is love made visible."

Our communities are full of patients, clients, customers, and others who gather the courage to step through a door and ask for help. They are the Amys of the world, not sure what reception they will receive when they ask. I am always in awe of the volunteers who open those doors and serve - those who dispense prayers or medications, those who give legal advice, those who cook and serve meals, those who put their beliefs into action - and count myself blessed beyond words to have the chance to work alongside them. They are ordinary people who have stepped forward in extraordinary ways. They are ordinary people who have looked around, said "this (lack of medical care, lack of legal help, hunger, homelessness) is wrong," and then taken action.

Wednesday night I got to witness a miracle firsthand. I saw Grace in motion.

*Photo courtesy of Andrews House, Delaware, Ohio.

Honoring Our Community

In recent months, I have been honored twice for my volunteer work.

It is an embarrassment of riches.

Back in June, I received the community volunteer of the year award from our local Rotary (to which I do not belong). From what I have since gathered, being named a Paul Harris Fellow in Rotary circles is the equivalent of winning a Nobel Prize.

Then yesterday, at our United Way campaign kickoff breakfast, I was recognized for earlier receiving the Nancy Frankenberg award for "exceptional volunteerism and dedication." The Frankenberg award is our United Way's equivalent of winning a Nobel Prize.

I guess I am now a two-time local Nobel winner.

My good friend Margo, who was at the United Way breakfast with me and Warren, emailed me her thoughts later:

You keep a fairly low profile, you know, so although I'm aware of all you do, the scope of your impact and influence startles me on days like this. It's like looking across the breakfast table and thinking "Whoa! I'm eating muffins with Mahatma Gandhi!"

I replied:

You were eating muffins with April Nelson. Trust me, I was there too.

Or, as I remind Warren from time to time, it's just me.

After I came home last week with the Frankenberg award, which is somewhat large, Warren joked that we are going to have to build a trophy case. That reminded me of the wistful explanation Christopher Milne gave in his haunting memoir, The Enchanted Places, as to why it never bothered him to donate his toys - the Pooh, the Piglet - to the New York Public Library: I wouldn't like a glass case that said: "Here is fame;" and I don't need a glass case to remind me: "Here was love."

So ix-nay on the trophy case, my dear Warren.

What occurred to me was that, had I had the opportunity to say a few words, what I would have said is "when I look out at this room, there is not a table here without at least one person with whom I have worked on a project to better our community."

And that's the truth. From school levies to United Way to the Symphony to the Legal Clinic - they were all there.

It is always the truth. It is always a community effort. It is always all of us joining together, whether it is the 31 volunteers who showed up last Saturday to move the Symphony office to its new location or the friend coming to the Legal Clinic last month "just" to help with intake.

It is wonderful to get recognition and these awards are no exception. I am deeply touched and honored. But ultimately, it's not about me. It's about us. It is about this community coming through time and time again to improve the quality of life for everyone.

And that's worth a Nobel Prize in my book any day.

Look, Ma! No Hoops!

Marilyn, my CIC co-chair at United Way, said yesterday, "I don't see how they are going to do all this [carry out an ambitious proposal] unless someone on that staff grows a gill."

I burst out laughing. Brandon, our United Way president, gave her this look and repeated, "grow a gill?" And with Marilyn's statement and our responses, I knew we had officially crossed into United Way March Madness.

As I wrote last year, for those of us who volunteer as Impact Team members for United Way of Delaware County, March is not about tournament brackets, Cinderella teams, or the Final Four. Rather, it is about reading funding proposals, two weeks of agency site visits, and team meetings that run up to three hours while we discuss the merits of the proposals.

Today was Day Two (and the final day) of those marathon team meetings.

As a warm-up exercise both days, Tracy, who is Community Impact Manager for United Way, had us go around the room, introduce ourselves, and throw out one word that described the Impact Team process:

Enlightening

Difficult

Educational

Baffling

Demanding

Thorough

Surprising

Overwhelming

Rewarding

Confusing

Enriching

Excellent

Challenging

Empowering

The Impact Team process is all of those words and more. It is an uplifting and humbling experience. Every year I come out of March in awe of the strength of this community.

I also come away punch drunk from the wackiness that envelops those of us closest to the process. Prior to this week, our volunteers conducted agency site visits. Yesterday and today, some 30+ volunteers reviewed 39 proposals over the course of four separate Impact Team meetings. Marilyn, Brandon, Tracy, and I attended all four meetings, read all 39 proposals, and between us, made sure that at least two of us (one CIC co-chair and one staff member) attended each site visit.

Little wonder we all get a little tipsy on United Way March Madness.

There was a lot of laughter yesterday and today. We get silly. This morning when Tracy gave her word, "grateful," she added "for all of you volunteers," then threw out "I love you guys!" in an Academy Award winning baritone. I looked at Brandon, who had yet to give his word, and said "top that." Rod, who works for Nationwide and is a veteran volunteer himself, pointed out the role Red Cross fills at local disasters, such as house fires. "Who's the first on the scene?," Rod asked, before answering, "Besides a Nationwide adjuster, that is." Another volunteer opined how unsettling it was as to how much personal information could be gathered easily from the internet. I said, deadpan, "I know. I look you up all the time!" Marilyn, describing an agency site visit and some of the volunteer comments, said, "well, it wasn't like acid reflux when we suggested it."

I'm going to miss United Way March Madness.

This is my fifth and final year as an Impact Team volunteer. I've had a long tenure, by local United Way standards, and I am grateful for that. I've loved it. I've loved getting to know my community even better than I had ever imagined possible. I've loved working with so many other volunteers from all parts of the county and many walks of life, some of whom have become friends beyond our United Way confines. I've loved serving as CIC co-chair, despite the extra hours and extra commitment.

I will help lead the CIC meeting in mid-April, at which we make our funding recommendations, and I will make the presentation to the United Way Board the last Monday in April. And then I'm done. It will be time to pass the senior leadership into Marilyn's steady, capable hands. Like me, she will be fortunate beyond words to have Brandon and Tracy alongside her for next year's Impact Team process. And Marilyn has an excellent sense of humor, which will serve her well.

When my friend Kermit is truly impressed by someone's character, he will say, "there are not enough words in the dictionary to adequately describe" his admiration of the person. I'm going to borrow that phrase from Kermit as we ring down the curtain on our March United Way season. Brandon, Tracy, and Marilyn, there are not enough words in the dictionary to adequately describe my admiration and gratitude for your commitment and energy. You, and all the Impact Team volunteers, have made yet another March a success, and I have been fortunate beyond words to have shared the experience with you.

See you April 17.

To Make Tomorrow Better

The United Way allocation season is underway. We had our team meetings last week and the volunteers chose which proposals to read and which agencies to visit. Tracy is busy finalizing the site visit schedule. March Madness Without the Hoops is about to begin.

My stack - I read all 39 proposals as the CIC co-chair - awaits me in the living room. I already have a stack of notes on top of the stack of proposals to remind me of questions I want to ask or items I want to look for as I read. Between now and the end of April (the month, not me, I hope!), United Way will get a lot of my time and my thoughts.

We are fortunate in that the campaign appears to be holding its own after taking a hard hit last season. If everything comes out where we think it will, United Way will have approximately $1.7 million dollars to allocate.

That is a very nice number, until you realize that the requests total a little over $2.5 million.

The needs have increased because of the Great Recession. The agencies that receive state funding have lost funding; the agencies that rely on donors are trying to stay even. The local impact of the Great Recession has been significant.

Monday, as Patricia and I walked, she voiced her husband's opinion that "we haven't seen the worst of it yet" here in Ohio. He works in a state office and is watching the state financial picture tilt from precarious to bad to worse. I agreed with her, and immediately thought of all those United Way proposals sitting on my coffee table.

United Way campaigns nationwide are wrapping up in the next few weeks; ours is winding down as well. When our CIC meets on April 17 to make funding recommendations to the Board, we will know the final total we have to allocate. We will know if we indeed have the $1.7 million. We already know that whatever that final number is, it won't equal the amount of requests. It will be in our laps to make the best recommendations possible as to where those dollars should be spent to do the most good in our community.

Many of our local United Way agencies work with folks at the ground level of poverty and need. Others work to prevent their clients from sinking to that ground level. Still others work to help boost their clients a little higher above whatever level they may be on right now. All of them - clients and agencies alike - are hoping for a better tomorrow.

This is my fifth and final year as a United Way volunteer. Volunteers rotate out, to keep the views of the readers fresh, and it is time for me to step aside. It has been a wonderful experience, one of the most significant and meaningful of my community involvement.

I started reading the 2010 proposals last night. 38 other United Way volunteers in Delaware County are doing the same thing over the next two weeks. Tracy and Brandon at the United Way office are doing the same thing as well.

Godspeed to them and to all United Way readers everywhere who are giving their time and commitment to make tomorrow better for us all.

March Madness Without the Hoops

Some people spend huge portions of March watching basketball, planning their work and their recreation around the games that winnow 64 teams to the Sweet Sixteen, the Great Eight, the Final Four, and then the last two teams standing. People pay into office pools, pack the sports bars, stock up on sodas and chips and anything else that can be consumed for tournament parties. If your favorite team was in some weird timeslot (meaning anything on the west coast), you may have found yourself sacrificing sleep and sanity and ranting, like my friend Karen did, the next day on Facebook: “[I am] so sad (and tired!) after staying up to watch VCU Rams lose by ONE STINKIN' POINT! :( ”

Some of us here in D-Town recently went through our own form of March madness, centered not on basketball but on the annual United Way agency review process. I have been involved with this for four years now, serving as a reader and scorer both at the grassroots level (the Impact Team) and the funding recommendation level (the Community Impact Council, or CIC). In a “normal” year, this means I would read and score several proposals and participate in two or three agency site visits over the course of two weeks, and attend one three hour meeting in March with my other Impact Team members to discuss the proposals in our impact area. Then, in April, I would meet with the entire CIC to discuss funding recommendations.

This year I co-chaired the CIC and my March became madness without the benefit of hoops, 3 point shots, or ESPN.

When you are co-chair of the CIC, you are responsible for not knowing just your own impact team (Health) but all of the UW impact areas: Health, Youth, Housing, Seniors and Core (essential community needs, like a food pantry). That means reading and scoring all of the proposals and splitting the site visits (I think there were 26 this year) with Bill, my co-chair. (He too read all of the proposals.) Just completing the two weeks of agency site visits was an accomplishment.

This week, now wonderfully ended, was Impact Team meetings week. Every morning at 9:00, the Impact Team of the day volunteers, Brandon (UW President), Tracy (Impact Team Coordinator), Bill and I met in a basement conference room and plowed through the proposals. Most days went two and a half hours, one team went three (lots of proposals, lots of discussion). Fueled on coffee and doughnuts and community passions, we talked and critiqued and agonized and debated where the needs and the dollars were. All of the agencies are feeling the lash of the Great Recession and we were all painfully aware that the needs are greater than ever while the dollars are not. The discussion stayed positive and constructive, a testament to the commitment of the volunteers.

The national slogan of United Way is Live United. Earlier in the year, Tracy asked us to give her some comments of how we put the slogan into action. I wrote that I lived United because I believe our community is strongest when we all come together. This week was living proof of that. If there was ever a community model that works, it is our local United Way’s review process.

In the end, Brandon, Tracy, Bill and I were so immersed in the process that we were slap-happy by Thursday and downright punch-drunk by the last session. The review process marked my dreams and dogged my days. It was Friday when I announced that I had dubbed this week “March Madness Without the Hoops.”

After the last session ended and we all staggered out, I walked home, giddy at it being over. What a great week! What an absolutely energizing, exhausting, draining, and uplifting week! I am deeply impressed by and grateful to all who participated, especially Brandon and Tracy of United Way and my co-chair Bill. My deep thanks to those three (and to all the volunteers) for their work, their dedication, and their vision, collectively and singularly.

You made this week sing for me.