Spent the morning at the “by the pound” goodwill clothing store. It’s not a store, really, just a warehouse w/open sides and rows of tables. On the tables are heaps of clothes. Mounds of clothes. All of them discards from goodwill donations. Instead of selling them by the piece, they sell them for $2/lb.
I was ready for the store, having been to the one on Bfield a few years ago. I had a stash of plastic bags and was ready for whatever I might find on the tables.
Today I wasn’t looking for any treasures for myself or my family. Instead I was filling bags with little kids clothes for a local homeless shelter. I knew that I could spend about $20 and come out with enough winter clothing for a dozen kids. And I did. I found jackets, jeans, long-sleeved shirts, socks, sleepers, etc. All in very good condition.
Part of me was disgusted as I sifted through the clothes–to think that they were so little used and so easily cast away. To see items that were “last year’s style,” but still full of wear. To think that we live in a culture where some kids are cold at night and others have drawers full of the latest fashions. It all seems so pointless when you’re standing in a cold warehouse, wondering about those who donated the items, hoping to ease the burden of those who will receive them, feeling guilty that my own closet is so full.