the road we take

“But his kind will always lose in the end. I know this, and now I know why. Whether it’s wife or nation they occupy, their mistake is the same: they stand still, and their stake moves underneath them….Even a language won’t stand still. A territory is only possessed for a moment in time. They stake everything on that moment, posing for photographs while planting the flag, casting themselves in bronze. Washington crossing the Delaware. The capture of Okinawa. They’re desperate to hang on.

But they can’t. Even before the flagpole begins to peel and splinter, the ground underneath arches and slides forward into its own new destiny. It may bear the marks of boots on its back, but those marks become the possessions of the land. What does Okinawa remember of its fall? Forbidden to make engines of war, Japan made automobiles instead, and won the world. It all moves on.”
The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver, p. 384.

Our politics today make me tired. I’m so bloody tired of hearing the same old diatribes repeated ad nauseam, over and over like wheels on a tired, creaky, aged wagon. They talk and talk and it’s like buzzing in my ears. For they say nothing new and none of it even applies anymore. It feels like they’re talking about Spaceman Spiff, when the rest of us are staring at moldy cheese in an empty refrigerator. They talk in the language of the Cold War, and the rest of us are sharing DVDs with the Japanese and watching You Tube videos coming out of Iran.

We have real problems and real concerns. And they’re still talking ideology. The world doesn’t operate on ideology. It operates in the handshake between neighbors, the crops grown by farmers, and the earthquakes and hurricanes that steal our homes away. Who cares about ideology when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun?

I hear the noise and it makes me tired. I hear the lies and it makes my bones melt. I hear the anger and I feel sorrow.

But when I turn off the noise and look at people, I see a different story. I see people buying produce from local farmers. I see people biking to work. I see people wringing their empty pockets to give to others in need. I see people ignoring corporations, eschewing industry and taking the path less walked. Home schooling. Midwives. Etsy. Blogs. Project 3/50. Interracial marriage. News, products, food, and information home grown and shared neighbor to neighbor.

We throw the pills that cause atrocious side-effects down the drain and we eat better food. This is not a revolution. This is not the masses rising up in revolt. This is the world moving on, like ants marching steadily out from under the boot through the gaps in the platform of the sole.

So you can have your soapbox. Let the potentates feed the lie. Let the corporations write our politicians’ speeches. We’re not listening anymore. Because while you sit there spouting and playing your chess games and lining your pockets while everyone else suffers, one by one, we take the road less traveled by.

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you capture – a story of happy

For nearly a whole week, I wrestled with how I would respond to this challenge. What story could I tell about the things that make me happy? I’m very much a “happiness-is-in-the-small-things” kind of gal. What tale could I weave around such things?

Would I talk about the little tickle of delight I get in the morning when I see these wriggle while I get ready for work?
youcapture_happyfeet

What could I say about the first good sip of this (and I mean real good coffee – not just the kind that you need to survive the day, but the kind that recalls the little slice of heaven that is sitting in the cafes of Florence and Rome)?
youcapture_happycoffee…especially if you can curl up with a cup AND a good book? Oh, bliss….

Was there anything interesting about that moment of profound peace in namaste after a morning session of yoga?
youcapture_happynamaste
Or in playing this after a long, hard day?
youcapture_happypiano

Could I tell a story about how I feel when I come home to this man?
youcapture_happyhusband

After days of wrestling with the questions, I started to worry I wouldn’t come up with anything interesting at all. I thought to myself, this week I might not have a decent post at all! And what a sad thing, when my life is filled with so much happiness.

But then, just as I began to despair, my husband leaned over and whispered, “Close your eyes.”

What? What’s going on, I wondered. But I closed my eyes, listened to intriguing rustling noises, then felt him give me this:
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This adorable hat I’ve been eyeing for weeks! With this adorable purple flower:
youcapture_happyhat2

I asked him to what I owed this fabulous surprise and he just said that I had been working so hard, doing things to please other people, and that he thought I should get a little something for myself.

Happiness is in a wonderful marriage. Happiness is in gifts you get and give “just because”.

Thank you, my love.

For more stories and pictures of happiness, check out Beth’s website, I Should Be Folding Laundry and this week’s You Capture challenge. Or better yet, join in the happiness yourself!

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rabbits, tears, vampires & werewolves

I had a whirlwind of a weekend and it seems there’s so much I want to tell you about it all, but they’re little disparate thoughts that I can’t quite wrap my head around, so we’re going a little stream-of-consciousness today and hopefully some order will emerge from the madness by the end of it.

On Friday, my husband and I went to see this play performed at UCSB:
Rabbit-F09The Rabbit Hole was an amazing production. We were a bit leery before seeing it because we had heard that it wasn’t very good. By intermission, we were sure we had been had. It was funny, it was raw, it was real, and in many ways, very touching. The story was about a husband and wife suffering with the loss of their little boy who had been killed in a tragic accident. The boy had been playing with the dog, when suddenly the dog ran out into the street, the boy chased after the dog and got hit by a car driven by a young high school-age boy. The play deals with the aftermath of their grief: how the husband and wife lose touch with each other, the feelings of guilt of all the things they could have, should have done, the feelings of blame that they try to tamp down because it was an accident and no one is to blame, feelings of jealousy seeing the irresponsible sister get pregnant when the bereaved one was clearly the better (i.e. more deserving) mother, and the struggle of negotiating a way between holding on and letting go. Holding on to their son’s memory and their grief, and letting go of him and moving on with their lives.

Also, the set design was absolutely brilliant. It was set up in an arrangement I understand is called something like “tennis court seating”, where the set is constructed in the middle of the room and there is audience seating on two opposite sides. So as the play went on, I could see the faces of the other audience members reacting to what was happening in the play. Somehow it made the whole thing more intimate as the lines between stage and audience blurred and audience became part of the stage.

What I loved most about this production actually comes from a line of insight written in the program. The playwright explained in his bio that a teacher of his had told him that to write a good play, one must write about something they fear. He said he didn’t understand this immediately, and it was only after his son was born that he finally really got it: his worst fear was the loss of a son. And I love that he didn’t just make a play about being scared to lose a child, what he did was play that fear out. What would happen if one lost a child? What are the consequences and repercussions of that loss? What does that fear really consist of? So his play did not deal so much with the act of losing a child as it did with all the subsidiary feelings and relationship dynamics that occur as a result of that loss.

It makes me see my own work in a new light, and gives me ideas for some direction to take in the future.

On Saturday, we attended another performance that dealt with a particular kind of loss: this time, it was suicide. NECTAR performance company produced a collection of dance, spoken word, video, and music all centered around alchemy: turning lead into gold, taking pain and making it something positive, powerful and uplifting. Proceeds went to benefit families who have been affected by suicide. It ended with a moment of silence, where people collected together and spoke softly the names of people this performance had stirred up for them. It was an intense moment, and tears were shed. I found myself remarking on my weekend being steeped in death: both accidental and intentional. It made for a heady weekend.

I could probably say something weighty here about how we foist off death, doing so many things to stave it off and pretend it doesn’t exist, instead of recognizing it as part of life, or about how sometimes we go through life so unthinkingly, on autopilot, and how we might look and wonder what about our lives is so very different from death. But instead, I’m just ending with an observation that something I was told I wouldn’t like was something I found profoundly moving and important, while something by all means I was supposed to enjoy, I found less satisfying.

Sunday ended with a trip to see New Moon, which really…I have to say was crap. I was entertained, but it was crap. It sort of dragged, but thankfully being only 130 minutes long, did not drag as long as the books did. There were moments when I cried, but only because I have been in a dark place like that before. There were moments when I laughed, but it was mostly due to the cheese, like when Robert Pattinson ran Baywatch-style, through the woods. The part I found most entertaining, honestly, was the audience, who sighed, and swooned and gasped every time some dark, muscled man ripped off his shirt. Ladies, I’m sorry, but y’all need ta get laid. And after spending two hours looking at dark, muscled men, it is a bit of an unpleasant shock to go back to thin, pasty white vampire. Makes the whole Team Edward thing a little difficult. I would say I’d be Team Edward, but given the choice between snuggling up to a warm man versus a cold one…I’d probably chose the furnace. There are some parts of my body that just would not abide a cold one. I’m just sayin’. Shrivel, dry up and wince are words that come to mind. I did read all the books and found them addictive, but mostly because I just HAD to know how it ended. Everything in the middle was just one long drag of puff. I know how it ends, so I’m not clinging to the movies, desperate to find out anything (and really, how she resolves the whole love triangle thing is just weird). So the next two…it’s all about the Netflix. The first movie (which shock of all shocks as I’ve never said this before about any movie-book translation) was better than the book and shall remain my favorite purely for entertainment purposes.

Grand takeaway from all this? Man, I’m pooped.

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Women Unbound – The Red Tent

If you’ve been following my blog lately, you’ll know that I’ve decided to participate in the Women Unbound challenge. This challenge asks us to read both fiction and nonfiction books written by women authors as part of a group enlightenment/discussion surrounding women’s issues. As a participant in this group, I will post my reviews of these books here on Tasting Grace. But I’m not going to do a traditional book review where I give the synopsis and my thoughts, end of story. What I’d like to do is give a hint of what the book is about, but then talk more about what questions the book raised and what it made me think about. So if you’re not a participant of the challenge and/or haven’t read the book (or even if you have!), or even are not particularly chuffed about women’s issues, please stick around! What I’m hoping to do is pose some things to think about and hopefully engender a discussion here and try to get different people’s thoughts and share ideas. And hopefully learn something really fascinating in the process.

redtentThe first book I read was The Red Tent by Anita Diamant. It’s a very beautiful book that tells the tale of biblical figures from a woman’s perspective. It tells the tale of Jacob and Leah’s daughter, Dinah, from Dinah’s own perspective and weaves a story of four sisters wed to the same man and raising his children together. It tells of her marriage and “rape” and the carnage and aftermath which ensued. With a wealth of historical detail and deep emotional connection, the book opens a window for modern readers to see what life was like for the silent figures in the Bible: the women. I highly recommend it, and if you like historical fiction and books about the bonds of kin, this book might just be your cup of tea.

There are three things that struck me while I read the book. The first regards ceremony and rites. In the early parts of the book, Diamant delves a lot into what women did together. As they were not members of the public sphere, their lives involved much cooking and child-rearing, yes, but they were also very connected inter-personally and spiritually. Diamant talks at length of the community of sisters who see each other through major transitions in life and celebrate together moments like the moment when a girl sheds blood for the first time and becomes a woman: the time when women learn that blood is the price for giving life. As I read on, I realized that we have comparatively little in the way of ceremony and rites-of-passage. Part of this might be due to the way society has progressed: that with science and learning that fertility festivals do not actually increase fertility and dancing before the cloud gods does not produce rain that we have learned more about how the world works. But I wonder if maybe we haven’t lost something along the way. We have proms and marriage and religious holiday traditions (and what we do have has largely become uber-commercialized and sometimes engenders at least as much stress as joy), but most of us no longer celebrate things like when a girl becomes a woman and a boy becomes a man. Important passages go unmarked and unrecognized and there is little sense that these life transitions are indeed special and worth attention. Mothers show daughters how to use a tampon and they both move on without another thought. There is little of the sacred feminine, little celebration, little sense of community, sisterhood or brotherhood surrounding the different stages of life. Comparatively. Perhaps the biggest coming of age surrounds crossing an arbitrary age barrier delineating the legality of driving and drinking alcohol. Which neither are things that say anything substantial about people’s relationship with the larger community. And I wonder: to the extent that some of these communal celebrations have disappeared, have the binds that tie us as a society weakened?

The second thing that came from this book was a very real sense of what it was like for women to not have any choices in life. When things really mattered, very often, choices are made for them by men. It took real manipulation and chicanery to take control of one’s own fate. And what Diamant illustrates so deftly is that women in this time could not even cry foul at injustices. Not only were they not allowed to, they could not even conceive of the possibility of claiming an act against them had been unjust. It simply was the way things were. It is a difficult thing to wrap our heads around now, when we can look and say, “Why didn’t she complain? Why didn’t she fight against her oppression?” There were socio-cultural blinders preventing these women from even entertaining the possibility of fighting back. It’s easy for us to judge in hind-sight, to see outside the social frame of the time with the benefit of a different perspective. But it does raise the question: what are we blind to? Are there things that we don’t even see because it never occurred to us to question them?

And finally, there is a moment between Dinah and a dear friend of hers who says, “Dear one…I am so honored to be the vessel into which you pour this story of pain and strength.” I am so honored to be the vessel. Herein lies what I believe to be one of woman’s most incredible strengths. We have the strength to endure, to survive, to sacrifice, not only for ourselves, but also for others. When we falter, our mothers, sisters, daughters, and friends become the vessel when there is too much to bear. (I don’t mean to say men don’t do this too; men can be incredibly caring, strong, and supportive.) But can we recognize in our sisters fellow vessels of the world’s burdens? Can we, even where there are betrayals between sisters, forgive and live with an undivided heart?

If anyone has thoughts on any of this, I would love to receive them. I would love to have a discussion and hear what others think. I hope you all find this fascinating too.

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hotel on the corner of bitter & sweet

This book is gorgeous.
hotel_book

It is the story of a young Chinese-American growing up near Seattle in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor. The perspective shifts in time between the boy as an older man and his memories from when he was younger. As an adolescent, he falls in love with a Japanese-American girl and watches as his family and hers become torn by the internment of the Japanese here in America. As an adult, he struggles with his memories of the past and his relationship with his father echoed in the relationship he now shares with his own son.

It is a beautiful tale of the conflicts between father and son, of duty, loyalty, sacrifice and dishonor mirrored in the relationship between citizen and state writ large. It’s subtle and mesmerizing, heartwarming and evocative. It delicately and precisely navigates the thin line of identity Asian-Americans tread between their Asian history and culture and their new home.

It gently reminds us what we have done here to our own citizens, evidence of which still exists around the U.S. My husband rode past Manzanar, California a few weeks ago and found the remains of one of the internment camps, and a monument to those who had been torn from their homes and families to await the long end of the war.

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Racism in the name of patriotism.

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reclaiming our….

If you take a little gander over at my right hand column here, you’ll notice I’m reading a book titled with that one little c-word. I’ve been wanting to write about it, about the things it makes me think about and wonder, though I’m having a little difficulty pinpointing exactly what I want to say. Mostly because 1) I don’t want to come across as some kind of crazy femi-Nazi when I cry out for women’s rights, and 2) I think this book is SO important, something EVERY. WOMAN. IN. AMERICA. needs to read. And I don’t wanna mess it up when I talk about it. So because it is so important, I am going to talk about it, and I apologize ahead of time for the rambling.

So the reason it’s called…what it’s called… is because it didn’t use to be a bad word. It used to, in ancient times, just mean woman. But because, in the way of history, what is associated with women often carries negative connotations, so the word acquired negative meaning. And so on, through the ages. Inga Muscio, the author of this book, says we need to reclaim this word, reclaim it in a positive sense, in a way reclaiming ourselves: our womanhood and our femininity. (Because vagina, apparently, means “a sheath for a sword”, and we ain’t nobody’s sheaths, thankyouverymuch.)

“There will remain much sadness in the world until people are willing to rise to the task of facing the world’s pain in the bathroom mirror.” She talks a bit about how we hold ourselves to unrealistic beauty ideals (how cliche that sounds, but I promise, you feel the truth of it deep down, emotionally, when she talks about it), often basing almost our entire self-worth on how we think others think we look. (I would say men, but in all honesty, I think women dress up to make other women think we look good, mostly to compete with other women.) And we hate ourselves when we think our thighs are too chubby, our tummies and arms are too flabby, our knees are too knobbly, our noses are too big, our lips are too small, or whatever whatever, because it’s all a bunch of crap. And we hate it so much, we mutilate ourselves with knives and needles and chemicals and machines, trying to meet these ideals. And we hate ourselves when we look in the mirror. While we live in a patriarchal society, I’m not sure there’s much use in blaming men so much as just realizing how we engage in our own persecution and oppression. Yes, we engage in our own persecution and oppression. And we hate on other women who don’t meet our standards of professionalism, creativity, beauty, ideas on breastfeeding, child-rearing, etc. instead of supporting each other and realizing we each just do the best we can. Why do we hate on other women so much? I dunno. I mean, yeah, we’re great with our friends (most of the time). But other women? We can be so catty with each other, can’t we? This is why the problem of achieving equality is so damn hard: because the inequalities are so subtle, so hidden, so insidious, and because we can’t get rid of the self-hate.

This is also the part where I part ways with corporate feminism. I don’t think we prove our power or achieve equality when we act like men, when we play cut-throat in the professional world and pooh-pooh the “mommy track”. I think we gain power and equality when we demonstrate how vital and important a feminine perspective is: when we run offices like collaboratives rather than hierarchies, for example. When we celebrate people in all endeavors and place value in all creative/academic/professional pursuits because each person has an important role to play and service to perform: the homeschooling mother, the baker, the florist, the accountant. When we say what happens in the home is every bit as important as what happens in the office, in the classroom, or on Capitol Hill.

Muscio also touches on rape, and how because of the way our bodies are built, we are subject to violations that some persons can do in the space of a coffee break, but that have ramifications that last a lifetime, or lifetimes, into the next generation. The statistics on rape are appalling, especially when you look at the numbers perpetrated on young children, and that is only counting the ones that are reported. “If you haven’t been directly targeted, someone in your family most certainly has. And if it has affected your family, it has affected you too, possibly in deeply personal ways, in phobias or neurosis, in anxiety or self-esteem issues. No one is exempt.” If you think you haven’t been affected, remember: silence is the perpetrator’s best ally, and “denial is one of the most common responses to heinous abuse”. Muscio is not far off the mark in saying we exist in a rape culture, when those of us who have not been raped feel lucky for having escaped it thus far, when the persecutions of rapists are so meager, and when so many movies in Hollywood glorify it, portraying it in a way that is sexy rather than offensive. (FYI: for those who have suffered from sexual assaults, or those who would prefer to avoid movies with violent sexual scenes, there is a website Movies That Trigger where someone has compiled a list of movies containing such scenes so you can be properly forewarned and avoid movies that may trigger panic attacks or depression.) For this reason alone, we should learn how to protect ourselves properly and develop strong systems of support – because any woman who has experienced sex that wasn’t entirely on the up and up can probably have an inkling of how deeply traumatic those violations can be. Even I, who abhor guns, am gearing up my guts to learn to shoot. I dislike them so thoroughly I will absolutely never own a gun, or keep one in the house (especially when I have kids), but one never knows when one might be presented with a situation in which one has to use a gun. So it’s best to know how to do it safely and properly.

So I don’t agree with every thing she says, but it is a good feeling to be shaken up sometimes. To be metaphorically slapped in the face and forced to think differently about something, even if it’s just for a while. Even if you don’t change your mind. To have someone lovingly tell you, “Wake the f— up.” Because it is gratifying to wake up, even if it is to disagree – if you honestly consider her point and really, really figure out why you disagree – and even more so when you are shaken out of your rut long enough to be reminded to love yourself. That you deserve to be loved, and most of all, that the love has to start with you, when you look in the bathroom mirror.

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you capture – red

The color red encompasses so many things:

from lust, passion, excitement, and love – oh, above all else, love -
youcapture_redpassion

to caution, rage and anger, and anger’s patron: fear. The red haze of fear.
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Isn’t it interesting how red encapsulates such disparate concepts as love and fear?
But perhaps the true irony is how often love and fear go hand in hand.

To love someone means to protect them: to defend them from harm…but also to prevent ourselves from losing them.

And isn’t it strange the things we do when we are afraid?

We fear difference because we fear the possibility we might be wrong. So ‘Love Thy Neighbor’ becomes ever more difficult as the perceived differences and distances between neighbors increase.

When we fear infidelity, what do we do? We invade privacy; we curtail liberty. We read through emails, sneak into cell phone data, we snoop and we spy. We do this to our loved ones at home as well as to our fellow Americans and fellow citizens of the world.

When we fear our significant other is about to leave us, what do we do? We leave them first. When we fear being hurt, we push others away. We shut them out and wall ourselves off. We cause our own loneliness and isolation to prevent someone else from committing the act of leaving us alone.

We withdraw our love to preempt the possibility that we might be unloved.

Sometimes we even tell ourselves we do not deserve love, so it might not hurt so much if we are ever proved right.

Fear is strong, it is compelling, whether it is fear for the sanctity of our bodies or of our hearts.

So the challenge, then, is how to love, even in the face of fear. The challenge is to shed the walls of anger and distrust and to find the courage to take a leap of faith and give out love, even when we are afraid.

To see what others have captured in red, head over to Beth’s website, I Should Be Folding Laundry, and check out this week’s You Capture challenge.
P.S. Did anybody else get Pearl Jam’s “Better Man” stuck in their head with this challenge? “She dreams in color, she dreams in red…can’t find a better man. Can’t find a better man….” Sorry. I’ll stop now.
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you capture – happiness

Happiness, like in turning the last page of a book that changed you, or in enveloping yourself in a friendship warm and true…

youcapture_happiness…comes when you enjoy the journey at least as much as the destination.

Capturing happiness is just a click away at Beth’s website: I Should Be Folding Laundry. Click here to see!
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ways i can go green

Disclaimer: Since I started blogging regularly I’ve tried to avoid getting political on here. I use this blog for a different purpose, so I don’t think this is the forum for my political rants. Even if it means biting my tongue ‘til it bleeds sometimes. (I’m working on a doctorate in political science, so you can see how I might have a few political opinions itching for expression. Oh, the restraint.)

But I think going green in a financially viable manner (FU Lazy Acres!) has shifted from the expressly political to a more socio-cultural phenomenon of late. And if not, well, I’m not telling anybody else to go green. This post is about how I can be more green. If it helps others, that’s fabulous. But if that’s not your cup of tea, I’m not on a soapbox and I’m not talking about you anyway. M’kay?moopbagSo it all started with MOOP (matter out of place). There was a lot of it this year. And with the simple action of picking up a MOOP bag that said “Earth Guardians – Leave No Trace”, collecting MOOP, and feeling a bright, shiny little glimmer of pride, I suddenly catapulted into becoming highly motivated to be more green. Especially if it is also cost-friendly because, did you hear? (whisper) We’re in a recession.

It’s not that I haven’t cared about the environment up until now. I have. But in more of a “we-should-really-care-more”, wave-of-the-hand, gestural type of way. Because I am a lazy, lazy slave to convenience. There, I said it. I admit. I like things easy. I also like them cheap. And most green options I’ve seen have tended to be much harder and much more expensive than the status quo. So having a bin for recyclables was pretty much the extent of my eco-consciousness.

(Side note: I was also on Weight Watchers, where losing weight is made much, MUCH easier by single-serving packaging. Yay, weight loss…BOO waste. Even I felt ashamed of the egregious waste…as I continued to do it.)

But going more green is daunting. Doing my research (Because when I don’t know, I read. Copiously. Generally online.), I find going green really is a lifestyle change. I’m telling myself it requires baby steps. It’s small goals and little changes and moving to bigger changes when you’re ready. Kind of like exercising: if you go from coach-potato to running a marathon in one day, it will hurt. And it will pretty much guarantee a moratorium on all future exercise. So…baby steps.

A lot of the things I found don’t apply to me because I rent an apartment instead of owning a home, so it turns out there’s no one go-to-list of things you can do to go green. Thus, baby step number one, for me, is creating a list of things I can do to go green: things that speak to my lifestyle, my habits, and my needs.

1. Use reusable grocery bags. I got a few from Trader Joe’s, but remembering to use them was kind of a hit-or-miss event (though I do always say no to bags when I can carry things myself). Paper and plastic bags I got, I saved for re-use in other ways (like as trash-can liners), but I can commit to being better about using only reusable bags. My question is: what do people do about trash bags? Are there non-plastic trash can liners? Will the trash guys pick up trash cans filled with unbagged trash?)

2. Commit to washing and reusing Ziploc bags. I use Ziplocs a lot. They are so useful for a whole host of reasons. But I can cut down on a lot of waste by reusing them.

3. Take the bus to work. Not only does this save me the cost of a $400 annual parking permit, I’m also reducing my carbon footprint, saving gas money, and reducing dependence on foreign oil. Well, I suppose I still depend on it for the bus to operate, but at least it’s not the bus AND my car operating on it.

4. Shop more from our local farmer’s market and food co-op. I’m actually really sad at myself for not doing this more often before. Yes, it means extra stops for shopping because I can’t get everything I need, but it is better for so many other reasons. I’ve always complained about wasted food because buying at groceries kind of enforced bulk buying since everything comes in family-of-four sizes. And the extra always went to waste because my family-of-two simply cannot consume that much. But also, buying locally means I can bring in some of my old cartons (like egg cartons) and fill them up instead of buying new ones all the time and throwing them away. Less waste! This idea comes from The Greenest Dollar and reading through her list of ways to reduce plastic was like “Whoa. Make your own yogurt? Use vinegar in your hair instead of conditioner? Eschew ALL plastic? You are awesome, lady, but I’m just not there yet.” But I can reduce some of it. Now, if only Asian food supplies were produced locally…but alas, I must still rely on globalization to meet my needs there.

5. Stop using plastic water bottles. This is a big one for me. I use way too many of them, even though I do own a stainless steel water bottle. It’s just…I don’t like the taste of metal in my water. Which means if I use my stainless steel bottle, I end up drinking less water…which is baaaad. I need to drink more water. So…working on this one.

6. Use more eco-friendly laundry detergents and homemade cleaners. Okay, this one is a no-brainer. Why haven’t I done this before?

7. Diva cup. Men, ignore this one. Ladies, just google it.

8. Gift wrap and gift cards. I’ve been kind of anti-gift wrap and gift cards for a while. I like making gifts look pretty and fun to unwrap, but I don’t like the waste or the fact that gift wrap often costs almost as much as the gift itself (I have a large family and a small budget. Christmas. Don’t judge.) And gift cards? Unless you have something really special or important to write? Kind of a waste of money. Plus what do you do with them after? Save them for a while and then fight between guilt and necessity when you eventually throw it away because you’ve run out of space. I’ve started saving ribbons and gift bags for reuse. But now I’m on the prowl for other gift-wrap packaging that can be reused. Like this gift I recently made for a friend: homemadegiftshomemadegiftboxHomemade lavender milk bath, brown sugar body scrub and honey yogurt facial supplies. With (super cute!) reusable glass bottles and basket.

9. Make more use of freecycle.org. This one is a new discovery for me. But the next time I’m tempted to just toss something, I’ll offer it up to someone else who might find it useful. And I will try to get more things second-hand because I’m getting over my prissy need to be the first owner of things.

10. Turning off lights. I like a lot of light. I’m a light-consuming creature. I do try to turn off lights when I’m not in the room, but I could be more conscious about it and also try to avoid turning on lights that aren’t necessary. I don’t know how well I’ll succeed at this one, but it is a goal. I should also be unplugging those phantom energy users, but I can already tell I’ll be annoyed by a bunch of unplugged plugs lying around or by power strips I’d forgotten I’d turned off. It disrupts my sense of order. But maybe, with time, I can change my attitude about that.

11. Start saving money now to buy a Kindle. Because I LOVE books.  And I love the idea that I can have all my favorite books, without having to schlep, move, and save space for the heavy, bulky things, while still supporting my beloved authors and publishing companies. It is officially on my wish list (alongside an ice-cream maker and juicer. Hint, hint. You know, in case you want to buy me something. I’ll be your best friend! Just sayin’…). If I ever get lucky enough to be an author in demand, I’ll also send special love to agents and publishers who prefer e-submissions.

12. Start composting. I eat a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables, which does produce a lot of food waste. But by composting, it can turn into something that is not waste at all and I can make my landlord’s (and maybe a few neighbors’) plants happy.

13. Use a junk mail stopper like Direct Marketing Association or Mail Stopper (formerly known as Green Dimes) to stop the junk mail. Oh, I’m so excited to discover this! I’ve already gone paperless with bills, but still receive so. much. junk. Every day. No more junk mail? Sign me up!

14. Any suggestions from you?

Anyway, hopefully if I start with baby steps I can develop habits that are more sustainable (both for the environment and for my motivation).

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    Constructing our memories

    doorsI recently listened to an NPR podcast about how digital technologies are becoming a surrogate form of memory. Facebook, blogs, even iPhone apps store data about our lives to such capacity that they can record events that we wouldn’t even remember unless we went back over the data record and rediscovered something that happened or that we said or thought. The discussants in this particular show also dealt with the issue of privacy and how these technologies record our lives in a public domain and all it takes is someone with enough will to access just about anything they want about us that has been digitally recorded.

    There’s so much to think about with this issue, but what really struck me was at one point during the show one of the discussants expressed an inordinate amount of smug glee over what he perceived as the stupidity of people talking about private things in their lives (like affairs, for instance) in their emails, which he argues are public (because anyone with enough will and $100 can access them, i.e. angry exes). I felt so affronted by his cavalier notion of privacy (not that I’m standing up for philanderers or anything, I’m just talking about the everyday person’s need to discuss things with friends and family over email that may not be appropriate for others to read). Just because people can access such material does not mean it’s not private. That’s tantamount to saying that if someone broke into your house and went through your private letters in your desk, it was public because they could. If I really wanted to, I could riffle through my husband’s email, but I don’t because it is his private space. Privacy is a social construction; it’s an agreed upon space where the walls are just as real and important whether they are made of bricks and mortar or megabytes of data. If someone violates that tacit agreement, it is not that you have stupidly made private information public, rather it is that they have invaded your privacy.

    The reason I take such offense is not because I’m a particularly private person. I take offense because I feel such sentiments induce fear in people: fear that they cannot be real, or that they cannot be open with others without extreme caution, for fear they will be judged or persecuted later in life by God-knows-who. Half the time we say things, they’re only truth for the time being anyway: our understanding, our feelings, our hopes and dreams right now in this moment. We change, we adapt, we learn, and we shouldn’t fear condemnation for the private thoughts we had along the way. And I think those who seek information with which to judge and condemn others (when such information is so wholly unconnected to themselves) are petty douche bags sorely misguided individuals. But then, I’m the type who cocks an eyebrow at employers who look at prospective or current employees’ Myspace and Facebook accounts looking for reasons to deem the persons unprofessional by actions they take outside their profession. (Is it hypocritical of me to judge the judgmental?)

    I believe such actions reduce our honesty and replace it with fear. People fear having real experiences in life because of what the neighbors might say. People fear being their true selves and people fear participating in life because some schmuck others might judge them and meet them with suspicion and anger, rather than charity and understanding. And I believe we should not be confined by someone else’s closed mind, lest we be reduced to the path of least imagination. What is beautiful about humanity will suffer, if we let such a mentality take hold. Right? Otherwise, how will privacy and individual expression survive the digital age?

    Here’s to keeping it real.

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