Hep Pwese!

On finding winter warmth and care.

There’s a video I love, of my son as a toddler. In it, he’s trying to convince me to give him cookies. He keeps saying “help please” but it sounds more like “hep pwese.” He says it in this faux pitiful but intentionally adorable way, laughing at his own game.

I say it to Peter sometimes when I’m struggling to get out of bed, or tired, or cranky. And it’s felt especially appropriate lately because it’s January and cold and we’ve all had colds. The same cold? I dunno. Maybe the hits will just keep coming. I’m a pitiful mess. But in a way where we know I, like that little cookie monster, will be fine, even if I don’t have quite as much cuteness to rely on.

I’ve been resting more, since my body seemed determined to, but there comes a point where your circulation benefits from light movement. I forced myself out for a walk, though it was rainy, because I needed some momentum. I was walking, foggy headed, when the Mister Rogers theme popped into my head.

“It’s such a good feeling to know you’re alive…”  

Cheesy, I know. I felt a sudden nostalgia for being home sick on a gross day, feeling kinda bad but knowing you’re taken care of. A hug from the universe that I needed in that moment.

The migrant crisis has been frequently on my mind since a shelter opened up in our neighborhood. People in my Facebook Buy Nothing group have been rallying to help families who arrive in frigid New York with barely the shirts on their back.

Weeks ago, I donated items to a Venezuelan family that a woman on Facebook was collecting for. Among other things, she’d asked for a flat iron, and I had one sitting unused in the closet. Who knows what on capitalism’s burnt earth inspired someone with hair as straight as mine to buy one in the first place, but at least now it’s finding a purpose. I scrounged around our home for hotel toiletries, stocking stuffer deodorants rejected by my husband’s sensitive underarms, and other items.

At the time, I thought mainly of this one family’s requests. I hemmed and hawed about including certain items, like a rarely worn winter coat. Sometimes when people on Buy Nothing request an item, like bedsheets, you’ll offer a set with a small hole, and the requester will refuse your offer, holding out for something better. But with refugee families the need is much greater. Only hours after I delivered my items, the woman I’d given them to made a post on Facebook explaining that the family she was helping were underdressed. She found one of the woman wearing only a tank top in the cold.

The hygge we all deserve.

I was relieved I’d given the coat. But it also dawned on me how much more there was to do. Not just in terms of items stashed around my house but in terms of the larger migrant and housing crisis. To quell my overwhelm, I’m trying not to do too much at once, which might sound selfish if you’ve never struggled with putting other’s needs above your own. The woman who relayed my items announced she’d quit her efforts soon after - she was burnt out from filling her apartment with other people’s stuff and lugging it to the shelter. Though I strongly suspect she was helping someone somewhere very soon after.

The shelter doesn’t have the resources to handle donations, so people were told not to drop stuff off. Luckily, neighbors have started to come together, creating WhatsApp groups, donation drives, and other initiatives. It is possible to bring things directly to those hanging around outside the shelter, but one of the challenges, particularly for those of us who don’t speak fluent Spanish, is that it’s difficult to distribute fairly when you’re crowded by cold, hungry people.

It was similar with a “Free store” that used to exist here. The sidewalk closet was a great place to donate clothes. But it was unnerving to have people practically grabbing bags from your hands as you arrived, and it deterred some people from donating. You can’t blame them for their desperation. Someone in the Buy Nothing group once complained about hoarding behaviors at the community fridge. They felt like certain individuals were taking too much of the donated food. Another neighbor explained that such behavior is normal with people in need, a natural symptom of poverty that shouldn’t be judged or policed.

I’ve been feeling frustrated with how little we can do for the people of Palestine. Ceasefire politics aside, aid we send over is tragically blockaded from getting to those in need. I keep reminding myself that there are plenty of people around us that we can help. These migrants are further proof of that, for better or worse.

There’s a temptation to move on from big problems you can’t fully solve, even as they grow in the background. But with something as heartbreaking as unhoused families, it’s motivating to know that your imperfect little offerings have some impact, making someone a little warmer or a little more cared for. I can’t stop a war or a famine, but I can drag some warm clothes a mile down the road. Last week I cleaned my daughter’s closet to get rid of old costumes and found a small sleeping bag from her daycare days. I was putting these things out on the street for people to take, when a migrant family came walking by.

The mom took the blanket. Her two, adorable, boys were excited to see free stuff. I felt bad that it was almost all girly costume stuff. I ran inside to grab a box of small toys I’d been saving for my nephew. I wished I had more useful things to offer. Their dad communicated with me, miming, and said something about a niña, lifting a blanket on the stroller they were pushing. It had only the bottom, no seat, so I assumed they were using the stroller to carry their things around. But under the blanket was this man’s baby girl. He was telling me that he had taken some of my daughter’s things for her and was grateful.

It felt kind wild for him to see him smile, knowing how few of his problems I’d solved. Knowing that the mayor has give migrant families just 60 days before they’re evicted from shelters. Single adults have just 30 days before they must reapply. I think we could be a little more neighborly, especially if less of our tax dollars were going towards creating refugee crises, but I won’t rehash my demilitarization stance today.

In the meantime, mutual aid groups like Bushwick Ayuda Mutua are helping the migrants here in New York, along with a patchwork of schools and other organizations. If you can, hep pwese!

On a somewhat lighter note, Peter and I just watched The Holdovers, about a curmudgeonly boarding school teacher (Paul Giamatti) who’s forced to watch teen students with nowhere to go for the holiday break.