Act Your Age... Donating to Charity

First appeared in the March 2, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

There was once a bearded guy who watched as various parishioners entered a temple to make their offering. They were handing over big bucks, but the dude wasn’t impressed. “What are a couple hundred bucks when you have thousands to spare?” he figured. Then this widow comes into the temple. The man watches as she reaches into her purse, pulls out the few dollars she has, and offers them up. It barely makes a difference to this temple’s annual revenue. But the dude’s impressed and he turns to his buddies and says, “That widow gave more to this temple than any of those rich guys.”

When you’re a recent graduate looking for work or a retiree living on a budget, it’s important to remember these sorts of things. Give of yourself what you can because everything is relative. That’s one of the reasons why every couple months I find myself at a Canadian Blood Services (CBS) clinic to donate a pint of blood.

I got the call recently from CBS, while in a grocery store (they always call me while I’m shopping for groceries somehow), and they prompted me to schedule my appointment.

“The sooner the better,” I said and I was booked a week from the day.

The clinic is only down the street, so on the evening of my appointment, I bundled up in my warmest jacket and made my way. I arrived with time to spare and after signing in with the receptionist, I was prompted along the assembly line of blood retrieval. The next stop was a nurse. She made polite small talk before stabbing me in the finger with a pin (well... she used a special contraption that pricks your finger to extract a touch of blood). Because I’m so strong and my blood has lots of iron (I think that’s what high iron means), I was approved and given a questionnaire to fill out.

Have I ever lived in Africa? No. Have I donated blood in Quebec? No. Have I played with monkeys? Only in my dreams (That’s actually one of the questions on the survey!). With the questionnaire filled out, a nurse brought me into a small room and proceeded to ask me a range of more personal questions about past illnesses and my sexual history.

This is the hard part for me. After the questions, the nurse checks your pulse and blood pressure and mine tend to run a little high (I’ve gotten it checked by my doctor and he said I was fine). She strapped me into the contraption and it did its thing. Too high. I was concerned because I’d already come so far and didn’t want to be rejected. They checked it again. Still too high. Finally she said she’d check it manually and thankfully it was just below the maximum. Perfect!

When I was younger I was terrified of needles (I was actually terrified of a lot of things). However I remember the exact moment I got over this fear. I was in junior high school and it was the Hepititis B vaccine. In the past, I had gotten it at the health clinic in order that my “freaking out” would remain confidential between me and my doctor. This time that precaution had been overlooked and suddenly I was going to have my skin pierced in front of all my peers. We were herded to the school’s library and one at a time stepped forward, got our injection from the school nurse, and earned a box of juice. Time stood still as I waited in that line, but that didn’t stop my turn from arriving. What was I going to do? I looked over at the cute girls in my class, stepped forward, and sucked it up. No problem. You do what you have to in order to save face in front of women.

My point is: the needle isn’t a problem for me. It was a small pinch, 11 minutes of slight discomfort, and presto! I was done! I got my cookie, put on my layers of jackets, and headed back out into the snow.

The pint of blood given by any particular donor is separated into three units – plasma, platelets, and red blood cells. These units are then administered to three different patients, each with a unique need: the red blood cells are used to help accident victims, surgical patients or people with anaemia; the platelets help treat leukemia and cancer patients; and the plasma treats patients suffering from burns or shock. Thus, when anyone donates blood, he or she has effectively helped save three lives.

But on a limited budget there are other ways to donate to a worthy cause and that brings me to Heidi Bezanson. As mentioned in the last Act Your Age, Heidi is a friend of mine that brought me to church. This week she donated her hair to charity.

Heidi wanted to shave her head for a while. It’s on her list of things to do before she turns 30. So this month she started raising money for the Stephen Lewis Foundation and luvHaiti in hopes that her upcoming baldness wouldn’t be in vain. She raised over $600 and the day of her shaving finally arrived. After a church service, she sat in a chair that she brought from home and let her friend Sarah Mott cut all the braids off her head. There was only a slight grimace and then a smile on Heidi’s face, as Sarah cut one by one. Then, came the shaving. She took it with high spirits and gave her hair to help!

You too can help! Like the widow in the temple, it doesn’t matter how much you give, but how much of yourself you’re giving. Whether its money or blood or hair, it’s important to contribute and help this human race truck along.

Editor’s Note: If you’re interested in donating blood to CBS, check out their website at www.bloodservices.ca. If you want to know more about Heidi’s balding and the charities she is involved with, check out her blog at heidisheadshaving.blogspot.com. And if you want to suggest a retirement activity for me to try, email me at jeffdeviller@gmail.com.

A Dollhouse Built With Love

From the April 2008 issue of the Cobequid Check Up

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In 1931, an eleven year-old Donald Mackenzie and his seven siblings faced the loss of their mother. It was during the depression and their father had already warned them that this Christmas “Santa is hard up.”

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At the local Rexall Drug Store in Oxford, NS, anyone who spent over a dollar received a raffle ticket for a dollhouse. The people in Oxford knew of the Mackenzie’s loss and many put Don’s sister Dorothy’s name into the raffle. On Christmas Eve, the owner of the Rexall Drug Store came to the Mackenzie’s door and told them they had won the dollhouse. On Christmas morning, Don and his sister, with wagon in tow, went to the store for their Christmas miracle.

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This is just the beginning of Donald Mackenzie’s story. Now 89, Don sits in the Cobequid Community Health Centre Foundation Office patiently waiting as I organize my notes and fetch additional paper from my desk. He wears a black leather jacket over a white button up sweater and a sharp red tie. Though his hair is now white, his spirits are still high and the man exudes a certain gentle energy.

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Don served in World War II. He was part of the North Nova Scotia Highlanders and was in France on D-Day. During his five years overseas, he attended the party of a group of girls. Originally the party was for wounded soldiers, but when the men got sick, the girls invited soldiers from the local YMCA and surrounding bases. At the party, he met a girl named Jean, 17. The two spoke briefly and the following day he was invited back to the house to eat supper. The couple who invited him happened to be Jean’s parents.

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At 21, a few months before the war ended, Don had a weeks leave to go to Britain. While his buddies explored the city and visited the local pubs, Don married his soul mate, Jean.

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After the war, Don returned to Canada with his war bride. He joined the RCMP as a civilian and became a Finger Print Technician. The couple lived in Dartmouth, but when their apartment was robbed, they moved to Ontario. When they retired Don asked Jean whether they should move to Florida, British Columbia, or Nova Scotia.

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He smiles as he recalls her answer. “Oh, give me Nova Scotia,” she said. At the time he thought it was a strange choice, but reflecting on it now he admits it was the right one. “You couldn’t get a friendlier place,” he says.

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If you recognize the name of Don Mackenzie it’s probably from the Chronicle Herald article that appeared in December 2007. At age 65, Don began making a dollhouse for a little girl. With Christmas three weeks away and a family too poor to buy presents, Jean knew Don would not be able to say no when she asked him to help the family out. Since this humble beginning, Don has built 36 dollhouses and sold zero. Each dollhouse has been given to a hospital, a care facility, or a child living in his neighborhood.

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Jean was the reason he built that first dollhouse. Seeing the family, Jean knew that her husband would be willing and able to grant the girl’s Christmas wish. As he continued to make the dollhouses for charities and local families, his wife would help by making curtains and offering suggestions.

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“If I built furniture too big or too small I heard about it,” Don recalls. “Sometimes I would make windows too big. I wanted to just throw them out, but she would say, ‘No, we’ll just make the next house bigger.’ She was good at that.”

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Each dollhouse is handcrafted by Don and takes three months to make though he admits that these days it takes a bit longer. When asked how he starts, he doesn’t hesitate explaining, “I just keep cutting wood.”

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On occasion Don has built dollhouses with a particular model in mind. While living in Ottawa, a young minister asked for one of Don’s dollhouses. Don replied, “If you get married, and have a daughter I’ll make you one.” Years later, when the minister had a daughter, Don already had one made based on a picture of a farmhouse that the minister grew up in.

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Jean passed away this year and is survived by the couple’s two children, two grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren. Each of Don’s three great-granddaughters has her own dollhouse. He gave his latest dollhouse, his 36^th, to the Cobequid Community Health Centre to be raffled off in memory of his wife.

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This dollhouse wasn’t his first and it certainly won’t be his last. As I shake his hand, he considers the future. “I might get a few more made yet,” he says. “I think I’ll stop when I get 95 years of age.”

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He volunteers to sell tickets at Superstore as we take his picture with the farm house style doll house and as he leaves the office I can’t help but think that Don didn’t just give us a dollhouse. Don offered us a lesson in charity, love, and kindness and gave us a legacy of a war bride, her soul mate, and a town that took a little time to help a family on Christmas.