The 40 Days of Green
This year I gave up paper plates and paper cups for Lent. I know some people might not consider that much of a sacrifice, but to me it is. Every morning I used to sweep through the dining room, grab three dirty paper plates and three used paper cups, deposit them in the trash can and move on to my next chore. Now I must stack up three plastic plates and three plastic cups, rinse them out and put them in the dishwasher. I realize that this is not a huge addition of work, but three times a day every day, the extra minutes start to add up. But something had to change - I think I had a sort of addiction to paper products.
It started slowly, with those animal paper plates that they make for kids, with the face on the plate part and two little bowls in for ears (or feet, depending on the animal). They were perfect for pancakes and syrup, which at least one kid was eating every morning, and they provided a neat way to measure out and contain the vegetables (especially frozen peas) at dinnertime. I moved on to paper cups because they were the easiest way to hand out a bunch of m&ms or sweet tarts at treat time without hearing the inevitable sound of candy hitting the hardwood and scattering under the furniture. I thought I had my habit under control, but as with all addictions, the addict can’t really appreciate her dependence. Eventually I was going through a package of paper plates and paper cups every week. I moved on to the big packages of plain old paper plates, and we began to burn through those every week.
I don’t know if I would have hit rock bottom – if my friends and family would have had to stage an intervention to wean me off the paper, hold my hand as I moved on to plastic and support and encourage me as I worked my way back to regular dishware. Fortunately, Lent arrived and I was looking for something to give up that would make a difference to anyone or anything besides myself. I understand the sermon I heard at church that no one should judge another person’s Lenten sacrifice, but I just can’t help it. Any adult that gives up dessert or chocolate or any other food or beverage clearly has an ulterior weight loss motive. I appreciate that they don’t admit to it, but to me it seems rather obvious. So remembering my previous life as an environmental consultant, I decided I would try to find an environmentally friendly sacrifice - hence, the move away from paper products.
When I was young and in charge of no one but myself, I was a poster child for recycling and reducing waste. At the campus pub in college, I would always try to get the bartenders to refill my original plastic cup so that I wouldn’t have to use a new cup for every beer. After a year of student teaching in graduate school I had piles and piles of paper that I could not find a place to recycle, so I carried it with me from apartment to apartment until I finally had a job at a place that recycled white paper, and one evening I snuck in all of my previous students’ 5-year-old lab reports. I would conscientiously pile up cans and bottles at my desk at work and eventually take them home to put out with the recycling since the office didn’t recycle. But once I had kids, ironically all that careful caretaking of the planet and its resources began to change.
I still recycle, but I can’t let it pile up, especially the paper since each kid of mine brings home approximately 132 pieces of paper every day. Every product designed for children comes with a staggering amount of packaging. A friend and I recently lamented all of the packaging that is involved with products that make packing lunch so much easier. We feel guilty about the waste, but we love the time it saves. She told me her son attended a camp last summer where no disposable packaging was allowed in the lunches, so she had to buy reusable containers and forks and spoons for him. Although she could appreciate the waste reduction, it made making lunch that much more irritating and tiresome. Our moms always had to buy the big package of cookies and repack them for lunches, which is probably why I remember lunch packing as the one chore my mother complained about on a regular basis.
The lunch box item that makes me feel most guilty is the juice box, with its plastic straw and wrapper and its complex little package that doesn’t fit into any recycling category. I once saw something on PBS about a little girl who had found a way to recycle juice boxes. It involved taking apart the cardboard box, peeling out the foil layer and then finding a place that would accept those things plus the plastic straw and wrapper for recycling. That is not really a task I plan to take on for every four ounces of juice that the kids drink. Today at the store I bought some half pint water bottles, and when the water is done, I’m going to try to reuse the bottles as juice containers. That way I can buy big bottles of juice and then recycle the big bottles. I suppose it would be even better if I bought frozen concentrate juice and reconstituted it in a reusable pitcher, and recycled that little can. Then again, I suppose it would be perfect if I bought myself a juicer and squeezed all the juice myself. However, I have no pressing need to be perfect, so I am going to start slowly with the little water bottles (yes I know water bottles are a big problem too, but I’m reusing these).
My next step toward a better environmental profile may be grocery bags. I have a mental block about this however, since I have always thought of people with reusable grocery bags as irredeemably crunchy or hopelessly crazy. I can reuse a certain number of grocery bags, but at times I think every item I choose from the store is being individually double bagged by the super conscientious baggers at our store. I have a pile of grocery bags in the kitchen that is almost big enough to be a little seat for people who’d like to visit with me while I’m cooking. Sometimes I remember to put them out in the recycling, but most of the time I just shove them with the rest of the stash out of habit.
Where do I go from there? I’m not sure. I read a Bill Bryson essay about how much energy Americans waste which said that 5% of our country’s energy is used by computers that are left on over night. Can that be true? I suppose it could be, so now I have begun turning the computer off every night, no matter how tired and desperate for bed I am. I was trained as a kid to reflexively turn off light switches and to keep the heat just above freezing, but additional energy conservation in my current living situation is hard, since the government owns the building and chose all the appliances. I have already made a promise to myself that when the washer and dryer go, we will upgrade to the frontloading, lower-energy, less-water model, but for now I don’t think getting rid of working appliances will do anything for anybody. One huge sacrifice I made in my life is agreeing to drive a minivan rather than upgrading our Explorer to an even bigger SUV when the third kiddie arrived. We had sworn to ourselves that we would never be minivan people, and yet here we are with one in the driveway. I realize the gas mileage for a minivan is not ideal, but it is better than a Yukon.
Years ago I gave up swearing for Lent. I was never as much of a gutter mouth as my two sisters, but after 40 days of trying not to, I fell out of the habit of swearing. I have to be blindingly angry to start dropping four-letter words, and since I am always surrounded by short people, even when the f-bomb is most appropriate, I usually don’t drop it. Now, aside from when I stub my toe and a reflex @#%!&! bursts out, I sound ridiculous when I curse. Maybe after 40 days, using paper plates and cups will seem ridiculous. I did go to Target and get some fun plastic plates and cups and bowls for the kids, and maybe that will be enough until they can be trusted with real plates. The only problem is that the plastic plates are not microwave safe. When I need to warm up the pancakes in the morning, I have to use a real plate. Maybe after Easter I will keep a stash of animal plates in the kitchen, just for those morning pancakes...
It started slowly, with those animal paper plates that they make for kids, with the face on the plate part and two little bowls in for ears (or feet, depending on the animal). They were perfect for pancakes and syrup, which at least one kid was eating every morning, and they provided a neat way to measure out and contain the vegetables (especially frozen peas) at dinnertime. I moved on to paper cups because they were the easiest way to hand out a bunch of m&ms or sweet tarts at treat time without hearing the inevitable sound of candy hitting the hardwood and scattering under the furniture. I thought I had my habit under control, but as with all addictions, the addict can’t really appreciate her dependence. Eventually I was going through a package of paper plates and paper cups every week. I moved on to the big packages of plain old paper plates, and we began to burn through those every week.
I don’t know if I would have hit rock bottom – if my friends and family would have had to stage an intervention to wean me off the paper, hold my hand as I moved on to plastic and support and encourage me as I worked my way back to regular dishware. Fortunately, Lent arrived and I was looking for something to give up that would make a difference to anyone or anything besides myself. I understand the sermon I heard at church that no one should judge another person’s Lenten sacrifice, but I just can’t help it. Any adult that gives up dessert or chocolate or any other food or beverage clearly has an ulterior weight loss motive. I appreciate that they don’t admit to it, but to me it seems rather obvious. So remembering my previous life as an environmental consultant, I decided I would try to find an environmentally friendly sacrifice - hence, the move away from paper products.
When I was young and in charge of no one but myself, I was a poster child for recycling and reducing waste. At the campus pub in college, I would always try to get the bartenders to refill my original plastic cup so that I wouldn’t have to use a new cup for every beer. After a year of student teaching in graduate school I had piles and piles of paper that I could not find a place to recycle, so I carried it with me from apartment to apartment until I finally had a job at a place that recycled white paper, and one evening I snuck in all of my previous students’ 5-year-old lab reports. I would conscientiously pile up cans and bottles at my desk at work and eventually take them home to put out with the recycling since the office didn’t recycle. But once I had kids, ironically all that careful caretaking of the planet and its resources began to change.
I still recycle, but I can’t let it pile up, especially the paper since each kid of mine brings home approximately 132 pieces of paper every day. Every product designed for children comes with a staggering amount of packaging. A friend and I recently lamented all of the packaging that is involved with products that make packing lunch so much easier. We feel guilty about the waste, but we love the time it saves. She told me her son attended a camp last summer where no disposable packaging was allowed in the lunches, so she had to buy reusable containers and forks and spoons for him. Although she could appreciate the waste reduction, it made making lunch that much more irritating and tiresome. Our moms always had to buy the big package of cookies and repack them for lunches, which is probably why I remember lunch packing as the one chore my mother complained about on a regular basis.
The lunch box item that makes me feel most guilty is the juice box, with its plastic straw and wrapper and its complex little package that doesn’t fit into any recycling category. I once saw something on PBS about a little girl who had found a way to recycle juice boxes. It involved taking apart the cardboard box, peeling out the foil layer and then finding a place that would accept those things plus the plastic straw and wrapper for recycling. That is not really a task I plan to take on for every four ounces of juice that the kids drink. Today at the store I bought some half pint water bottles, and when the water is done, I’m going to try to reuse the bottles as juice containers. That way I can buy big bottles of juice and then recycle the big bottles. I suppose it would be even better if I bought frozen concentrate juice and reconstituted it in a reusable pitcher, and recycled that little can. Then again, I suppose it would be perfect if I bought myself a juicer and squeezed all the juice myself. However, I have no pressing need to be perfect, so I am going to start slowly with the little water bottles (yes I know water bottles are a big problem too, but I’m reusing these).
My next step toward a better environmental profile may be grocery bags. I have a mental block about this however, since I have always thought of people with reusable grocery bags as irredeemably crunchy or hopelessly crazy. I can reuse a certain number of grocery bags, but at times I think every item I choose from the store is being individually double bagged by the super conscientious baggers at our store. I have a pile of grocery bags in the kitchen that is almost big enough to be a little seat for people who’d like to visit with me while I’m cooking. Sometimes I remember to put them out in the recycling, but most of the time I just shove them with the rest of the stash out of habit.
Where do I go from there? I’m not sure. I read a Bill Bryson essay about how much energy Americans waste which said that 5% of our country’s energy is used by computers that are left on over night. Can that be true? I suppose it could be, so now I have begun turning the computer off every night, no matter how tired and desperate for bed I am. I was trained as a kid to reflexively turn off light switches and to keep the heat just above freezing, but additional energy conservation in my current living situation is hard, since the government owns the building and chose all the appliances. I have already made a promise to myself that when the washer and dryer go, we will upgrade to the frontloading, lower-energy, less-water model, but for now I don’t think getting rid of working appliances will do anything for anybody. One huge sacrifice I made in my life is agreeing to drive a minivan rather than upgrading our Explorer to an even bigger SUV when the third kiddie arrived. We had sworn to ourselves that we would never be minivan people, and yet here we are with one in the driveway. I realize the gas mileage for a minivan is not ideal, but it is better than a Yukon.
Years ago I gave up swearing for Lent. I was never as much of a gutter mouth as my two sisters, but after 40 days of trying not to, I fell out of the habit of swearing. I have to be blindingly angry to start dropping four-letter words, and since I am always surrounded by short people, even when the f-bomb is most appropriate, I usually don’t drop it. Now, aside from when I stub my toe and a reflex @#%!&! bursts out, I sound ridiculous when I curse. Maybe after 40 days, using paper plates and cups will seem ridiculous. I did go to Target and get some fun plastic plates and cups and bowls for the kids, and maybe that will be enough until they can be trusted with real plates. The only problem is that the plastic plates are not microwave safe. When I need to warm up the pancakes in the morning, I have to use a real plate. Maybe after Easter I will keep a stash of animal plates in the kitchen, just for those morning pancakes...
posted by Shannon at 11:11 PM
1 Comments:
Gutter mouth? ---- you!
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