My Recycled Life — Feed the World

Disabled by dementia, my mother clung to her grocery-shopping as long as possible, until the very last weeks of her life. I think it was her most precious activity — even though she insisted she didn’t like shopping. She may have had an idea that when her grocery-shopping was done, so was she — and she fought ‘til the bitter end. 

For the most part, I tolerated her irrational conduct, reasoning she was the person who was coping with the end of her own life. She’d open packages and have tantrums in markets. She refused all urging to have someone else shop or get food delivered. I dealt with her hysteria about “no food” in her house, no matter how stuffed her refrigerator, freezer, cabinets and countertops got. Forcing her into a care facility was the only thing that altered her behavior.

When she died, she left behind a large enough stockpile to feed, if not the world, at least a large extended family. I couldn’t just eat it all myself, not with my food allergies and other dietary restrictions. I persuaded a friend with a degree in Home Economics to help with the sorting. Whipped cream without a cap went in the trash. Mystery liquid, probably a vinaigrette I couldn’t eat anyway, got poured down the drain.

When the trashing was over, the remaining stockpile still filled several shelves, including what was either long past its shelf date or that I was allergic to. The cats got some “expired” chicken and tuna. Much of what was left I spent considerable time sorting, bagging and delivering to food pantries and rescue shelters where I’d donated food and drink before.

I found such places accepted some things you normally wouldn’t think they would — frozen food, seasonings, open packages, baked goods and “expired” packaged and canned food. Maybe they accepted it because they knew me as someone who had a history of supporting their work. Maybe they smiled and thanked me, then discarded my donation once I was gone — but at least I’d made an attempt to keep food out of the waste stream.

For one such example, the family wine collection was so large it overflowed its rack onto shelves and countertops. I took one bag of bottles to a friendly food pantry, showed them to a volunteer, and asked, “Do you accept these?”

“We’ll see what we can do,” he said, and eagerly took what was offered. I sometimes wonder who drank that wine.

Some other bottles, I sold via estate sale, others became gifts. Still a rack-full of wine remains, and I’m allergic to wine. My dietary restrictions rule out white sugar and flour, too, but plenty of baking supplies still crowd the kitchen. I think that means I can bake plenty of wine bread for charity.