Take all of my unwanted stuff all at once. Also be good?

If you're trying to stay woke and make humane decisions with your unwanted but useable stuff...whattya do? I've heard that either Salvation Army or Goodwill (or both?) doesn't feed nearly enough of their profits to rehabilitation/unhoused/community programs as one might expect, so that feels shifty. I do also think about the idea that at least they're helping a little? But there have to be more structurally solid answers out there. I know; a lot of corporatized thrift operations are that way—not REALLY not-for-profit, if analyzed. I am also aware that a good number of them are founded, funded, supported, or run by religious organizations whose morals and beliefs don't align with my own. I can see doing commerce with a person or company that subscribes to ideals that differ from my own. There are hard caveats. Be: pro LGBTQI+ , be pro women's rights, do not discriminate etc. I'm an ally to all the good humans. I want more on board. THOSE are the companies I want to do commerce with. Yes, I know that sounds impossible. I bargain what I can with decisions that are as sound as possible. I also have a horrible history of collecting stuff that loses value or use in my life, if it ever really had any to begin with. Over the years, I learn to take less in and purge a little more here and there, especially to offset what's coming in. Family passes on, relatives get a chance to take home knickknacks you've held onto for too long. You sit with a thing for a time, then realize you could easily live with much less than you have. Maybe ONE box of VHS tapes.

It's perfectly fine to have one version of Monopoly. Maybe even two. I don't need another box of Monopoly nor any more versions of Clue. Worst part about getting rid of board games is the transitionary time between "I'm getting rid of this" and "I am driving away from the place I've donated this." What an awkwardly shaped item. If I had 10 board games I wanted to be rid of all at once—that makes much more sense. You can stack them all together, maybe even there's a box that works to fit a bunch.

If I have 2? All of a sudden it's like the idea of a box is entirely new. You don't want to stand up the game and have all the pieces fall out. You don't want to tape this 68 year old version of Connect Four together because, when anyone takes the tape off of the brittle box, all of the print goes with it. Also...why WHY does that thought live in my head? IT'S A BOX WHO CARES.

The Boy, The Bike, The Blunder

Fewer people have been driving about since the shelter in place orders have been in place. When traffic was heavier, especially when Garden Highway was under construction, the half of our neighborhood across West El Camino went unseen by us.

Fewer people pass by now. It's sometimes quiet enough to remind me of playing on the freshly paved road in front of my grandparents home from childhood. When my wife and I are on walks in the evening, the traffic and distance to a crosswalk usually deter us from venturing across. Yesterday, as we left the house, I noticed the quiet again.

We'd already trotted across the street once in the last couple of weeks. We discovered one road back there that is entirely lined with tract homes; all similar shades, shapes and landscapes. There's a home tucked away under a canopy of old trees, a yard littered with unaltered felines of all colors and temperaments — truly, most of the cats are awful. Yesterday, we also discovered one of the neighborhood kids and his new electric dirt bike.

Keli and I had just turned the corner to see what all of the tract houses looked like up close. I heard the buzzing of some sort of electric toy vehicle coming closer, but just assumed it was a power wheels or a scooter and didn't look around until I heard the commotion.

As he'd turned the corner to the street we were now walking down, this young skinny boy overestimated his ability to maneuver on his toy. Down he came, thin long legs in shorts, one of his adidas slides fell off and the bike landed on top of him.

It would have been quite the gruesome scene, were this a real dirt bike. Luckily, the boy just had a heap of thick blue and silver plastic with an electric motor on his leg. There was a look, though. The look comes to everyone at different ages. The idea of being absolutely invulnerable was dissolving before him.

But before that comes is a surveying of the scene. As if thinking, "Did anyone see me? Am I hurt? I'll bet I'm hurt. I don't think this is ok and it makes me sad..."

"You doing ok?, " I asked, turning fully towards him and stepping into the street, then lifting his bike from on top of him.

He leaned up on his elbows, then let out "I'll NEVER do this again! OUCH! OW OW!," so Keli approached him too, to give him a once-over.

"You seem to be ok. Maybe you scratched your leg. Oh yes, a little here," she said over the sound of his sniffles and more cries of "ow!"

With surprising speed, he shambled to his feet and brushed himself off, looking closely for the origin of his pain. I could tell he was indeed hurt, but nothing a hug from a loving adult and a band aid wouldn't help. Hell, if I'd taken a similar tumble, I'd have scraped and chipped quite a lot just knowing my clumsy ways.

I too would want a hug.