DEAR ALIZARIN: The Burden of the Powerbar Ministry

"How many times can a Powerbar melt in the LA summer heat and reconstitute itself in the coolness of my refrigerator before it becomes simply inedible or downright dangerous?" I ask myself as I take the mushy foil wrapped bar out of my purse which has been sitting in the trunk of the car during my two hour hike. I glance around the lot and find no one to give it to. Oh, perhaps you are confused about all the fuss over a Powerbar, but, you see, it is a Powerbar that has been taken with great responsibility: to feed the hungry. Not me, hungry (though the other day when I forgot to do my food shopping, I did consider it), the homeless hungry.

It is really a great idea. Don't we all want to do something to help the hungry and homeless? So when one of my fellow church members suggested we all take and pass out Powerbars (labeled with our church's name and phone number) as a new way to minister to the homeless in the area, I thought it was a great idea, but started off with a modest two bars. I figured within a week I would be able to pass them on and pick up more next week or the next Sunday they put them out. Heck, maybe I'd even buy a few of my own. What could be easier than sticking this bar in my bag then going about my business until someone asked me for charity? Apparently, carrying around more change.

This Powerbar is like a curse. The first week I toted it around and waited for someone to be asking for change outside of Ralph’s, Trader Joes, or the library -- all regular stops for me and, I always thought, for those who need some change to eat. However, no such opportunity came along. One day, I notice the bar is melted so pop it in the fridge. Of course, I forget it when I head out to the fabric store in a tiny strip mall teeming with beggars. Damn it! I get home and dutifully put the bar back in my purse. A few more days pass. No homeless outside the library (or none obviously enough that I feel offering a Powerbar would be undoubtedly taken as a kind gesture). Another hot day, another melted bar. It is the end of the school year; I was a bit swamped. I got home late one night and was a bit peckish only to find little else in the fridge but two Powerbars, old bread, and soy milk. I resisted temptation and put a bar into my purse for the next day.

There it sat until today. It did not make it into the backpack I used when I took the subway to a conference downtown. I could have gotten rid of both on that day! Then today, after a lovely hike in the Santa Monica mountains, I find the liquidy bar and asked my friend (who also goes to my church) how I was able to make something so simple so complicated and burdensome. She, too, has yet to get rid of her Powerbars. We admit we are too ashamed to ask how others are doing with theirs. We both get a bit homesick for NYC where we know we could have unloaded a box on one trip into Manhattan. Obviously, what they say about Angelenos living in their own little bubble is true. Since I am on vacation and am more available around dinner time, I think I will just volunteer with a feeding program. In the meantime I will continue to carry around the Powerbars as a reminder to how hungry I am not and to make me more aware of those around me.

Love,

Lychee