NONFICTION  -  
      With the Theme of Choices

"We all stand in a single line on the sidewalk in front of the Lutheran Church -  -   - "

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Why I Love Thursdays
by  Pat Skala

The smartest move I ever made was to go to work for the SF Department of Public Health the year I turned fifty. By sixty-five, I was vested and at the top of my pay grade. So, I retired. Why wait?

A casual conversation with a friend provided me with the best advice on how to prepare for retirement. Fortunately, she shared her wisdom with me the year before I retired so I had time to get ready. Apparently, a significant number of retirees get depressed once the initial exhilaration wears off. My friend believed the reason has a lot to do with the loss of one’s “role or identity.” At work many people know who you are, know your name and your job title. The loss of that daily recognition from co-workers or customers, she suggested, could lead to depression. This can be countered by exploring and identifying new hobbies, learning opportunities, or community groups to engage with.

I tried a bunch of different things my first year of retirement: I made quilts, took voice lessons, learned to play bridge. After a year of costly voice lessons, I dropped that activity. Did I think I was going to “play” Carnegie Hall? I do still sing in a senior choir, though. It’s fun and everyone knows my name.
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Thursday mornings, I volunteer at my local Food Bank Pop-up Pantry. I chose this particular pop-up because it’s a healthy 25-minute walk from my house. It’s also smaller and friendlier than the larger, more impersonal one I tried first at my local YMCA. The clientele are predominantly Cantonese-speaking seniors with some other ethnicities in the mix as well. Most of the volunteers only speak Cantonese. Some are bilingual, of course, and they tell me what needs to be done. Of the 15 or so volunteers, I can communicate verbally with five. With the others, we greet each other smiling, and in our own languages. Sometimes, I am surrounded by people carrying on conversations that I can’t be part of. It doesn’t bother me. I’m not alone. 

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We begin each Thursday shift with a 10-minute group Tai Chi warmup. We all stand in a single line on the sidewalk in front of the Lutheran Church that rents space to Catholic Charities who partner with the Food Bank to run the pop-up. In English speaking exercise classes, experienced teachers will say “right” but actually move their left arm or leg. Class members know to move their own right limb, which is correct. The instructor is actually doing the reverse of what she wants her students to do. And we do it.

At the pop-up, our Tai Chi leader is a woman two years older than I am, very petite and agile. When she directs us, in Cantonese, “left,” the Cantonese speakers move to the left. I move to the right because that is what I see her doing. They all laughed at me politely my first time and I acknowledged, laughing, that in English, we do it backwards.

After the last family has received their groceries, the volunteers are allowed to take home a share of whatever is left. I noticed on my first day that there is a certain amount of sneaking of food items between the volunteers. Someone who is handing out apples may put aside a few for herself well before the shift is over. However, what I see happening more often is a volunteer sneaking apples (or whatever) to another volunteer. It was probably my third time volunteering when someone came up to me and with a conspiratorial wink, passed me a cantaloupe from behind her back.

I experienced a moment of moral dilemma. What to do? In theory, I wasn’t supposed to take it, and my mind was awhirl with conflicting thoughts. Am I a person who needs free food? If I take it, am I depriving someone else who may need it more? Can my 4th grade Catholic school girl self even be disobedient? Is my loyalty to the rules or to my fellow volunteers? In the end my desire to be part of the group was stronger than my need to be morally correct.
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I have a place in this mélange and it suits me. I have made friends there, some I can converse with and some I can only smile at and work alongside. Everyone is there to give back to our community and that’s what makes it so satisfying. I know there is mutual respect and love among us even if it can only be demonstrated but not spoken of.

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​​Pat Skala is a native San Franciscan (only 3 generations) and a graduate of San Francisco State College. (Note the "C". Had she waited a year longer to graduate it would be a "U.") A retired City employee, Pat and her husband live in the house that her grandparents built in 1927. She is a gardener, a quilter and an avid jigsaw puzzle person. Although she would love to be a star on Moth Radio, she limits her storytelling to friends and family. Her stories are true and focus on what she thinks of as "angels:" people who come into our lives ever so briefly, but who give us something we need or point us in a better direction.

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