We had amassed quite a collection of 'stuff' no longer wanted, outgrown, replaced, redundant, storing it all in the basement, in the garage, and meaning 'some day' to cart it over to the Sally Ann. We had two large bags of clothing to donate, some furniture, a few small appliances, large lighting fixtures, that kind of thing. And books we had no need to retain in our library, having been read by one or the other of us, and not worth keeping, not up to the standards of research material, or classics, or representing anything we couldn't bear to part with.

We are collectors. Of just about everything and anything. My husband still hasn't forgotten an old picture frame I set out for the trash when we were in our first little house, over fifty years ago. A treasure whose value I simply couldn't recognize, and which someone else did, knocking on our door to ask permission to claim it before the trash collectors could. My husband is one of those people who can see a future use for just about anything. And often enough just about anything is recruited by him into duty of one kind or another; he is the original patch-up-artist.

So, yesterday morning while I set about the regular routine of cleaning the house, he began to put together our old trailer. It was bought about thirty years ago when we were living in Georgia, a good-sized trailer with good tires, that could be knocked down and its large flat parts, including the wheels, leaned up against a garage wall, stored upright so as not to take floor space. Every time its hauling capacity is required, as it has been countless times over the years, it is knocked together, wired up to the car, and ready to be loaded.

In the late afternoon after he was finished loading up the trailer, off we set to one of our local Salvation Army thrift shop locations. As we pulled up it was abundantly clear that many others had had the same brilliant idea; the first long week-end of spring begged for a little spring clear-out. We unloaded our offerings and piled them alongside those of countless other people's.

While we were in the process people kept casually sauntering by, an appraising eye on what had been assembled. Having seen something useful to them, if the object was small enough, it was lifted and taken home. In other instances, we saw vehicles pulling up to take possession of objects that had appealed. It's true that everything donated as we were doing was said theoretically to become the 'property' of the Sally Ann for resale, to help with their charitable programs.

On the other hand, these were largely people living in the nearby assisted housing enclaves. What they chose were objects that people living on limited incomes or welfare sometimes need to give them an extra hand up. They were welcome to whatever appeared to be of use to them, as far as we were concerned.