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Originally posted on verseherder:
Today, I am proud to be a resident of Chennai, not a citizen?of India. In case you haven’t heard, my city?was affected recently?by the heaviest rainfall?recorded?in over 100 years. Floods wreaked havoc on the lives of…
What’s better than Christmas presents? If you’ve had a toddler in your life recently, or been one yourself, you know: Wrapping paper! Especially that foil kind which holds its shape. If I had digital copies of my photos from the early 90s, I’d share some ADORABLE pics of my boys wearing Christmas wrap like armor. I have no idea what present was inside; the resulting shiny togs, and the boys’ joyful faces, is all I remember.
Problem is, that stuff’s not recyclable. Too high of a metallic content. In fact, most Christmas wrap, glommed all over with tape, gets rejected in the end: too much plastic.
This year, to add to my perennial conflict between wanting the brightest, shiniest, bring-back-my-innocent-childhoodiest gift wrap and wanting to, y’know, save the Earth, I was asked by our local Dump to write an article promoting zero waste in the Christmas season. The info they sent me included stats like this:
Garbage increases by 25% nationally over the holidays—that’s an extra 25 million tons. Most wrapping paper is not recyclable, due to metal or plastic content or tape. Then there are those 2.65 billion annually discarded Christmas cards, not to mention 38,000 miles of discarded ribbon, enough to tie a bow around the whole earth.
Sigh…I felt like I was writing that article to myself.
The Dump folks also included a link to this wonderful, crafty blog, Suburble, written by a way-cooler-sounding-than-Martha-Stewart woman named Tara. Tara walks you through the steps of making your own reusable Christmas bags, like this:
I could do that! I could even wear that!
I have a sewing machine. I have tons of cool fabric bits. What remains is to wrestle my pre-awareness-of-global-crisis enthusiasm for VERY BAD WRAP and translate it into enough enthusiasm for FABRIC BAGS that I will actually sit down and make some.
…or…
I could take my own advice from that article, and make gift wrap out of decorated paper bags. That sounds like a fun day for my inner child.
…or…
I could take some more advice and collect pretty grasses and dried flowers to tie onto gifts. But it’s pretty wet out there. That inner-child thing’s looking better all the time.
Anyone else wrestling with this? A support group would be nice.
Okay, I added the “yourself” part, ’cause why should kids have all the fun on National Take Your Child to a Bookstore Day? This Saturday, December 5, run, walk, drive, bike, take the bus or subway or a rickshaw, but get yourself to your favorite bookstore, a REAL bookstore made of, and filled with, REAL materials of bricks and mortar and wood and paper. The only “virtual” things on the premises of these stores are the dreams their books kindle in children’s heads. And I do mean kindle, not Kindle.
Could there be a better National Day, especially in this terrible season of random violence? Books + Children = Hope. I can’t say it better than that.
Here’s the bookstore I’ll be taking myself to this Saturday, A Book For All Seasons in the sweet town of Leavenworth, WA.
Could there be a more adorable bookstore to take your child to?
Gotta admit, though, I won’t be taking a child. But I will be signing books for other people’s children! And, since I finally got sent the photo from the Chanticleer Review Awards Banquet from a couple of months ago, this seems like a legitimate place to visually brag on my book, The Flying Burgowski. Here she is, winning Best Contemporary YA Novel:
I know, the picture’s me. But the prize is for my book!h
And while I’m sending shout outs to myself, here’s one for my own local bookstore, Lopez Bookshop: I love you guys!
So, everyone on board? Show some love to your local bookstore–and a child or two–this Saturday!
This isn’t an official travel blog post. For The Mate and me, a jaunt down to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving doesn’t count as a serious, blogworthy Road Trip. But we’re still on the road, and I want to share this cool thing we saw, so maybe it does count after all.
Kids come with a lot of stuff, right? Tricycles and scooters and playhouses and various plastic contraptions with dials and buttons and little squishy horns that (none too soon) lose their squawks. Kids grow. Parents get more stuff, keeping up with the demand. Until finally, the kids are in high school, the garage is full, and the choice arises: endless yard sale, or multiple trips to Goodwill?
But in Oakland, at least, parents have created a third alternative: bring those toys to the nearest playground. And oh, boy–talk about Toddler Heaven!
What to play with first????
We could have stayed there all day if we’d had enough snacks.
Gentlekids, start your engines!
After all, we all know that other people’s toys are always the best, right?
Even big kids like Son Two are captivated!
Yes, of COURSE I know such community playgrounds only work in a climate like California’s. Try this in Washington or Oregon, in the South or Midwest or New England, and…ugh. The mental pictures I get–mold, cracked plastic–not pretty.
But a girl can dream, right? What do you think?
Pretend you’re in third grade. It’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and your teacher just gave you That Assignment.
Now pretend it was your idea all along. With me? Let’s do this. Here’s mine:
This year I am thankful for…
…the good health of my family, myself, and most of my loved ones.
…the communal strength, love and support that continues to go out to those in need of it.
…the power of Nature’s everyday beauty that she keeps surprising me with (Spiderweb! Lichen! Wing of thrush!)
…really DARK chocolate
…the way gardening and eating local food is re-awakening in America
…my amazing amalgam of work, which allows me to get my hands sticky, get paid, interact with lovely people, and still retire to the quiet of my writing bench
…those hard-working folks still teaching and nursing and fixing pipes FULL TIME (y’all know who you are; I am so grateful to you–please let me make you pie!)
…friends who push me to improve my Spanish and my guitar-playing.
…mis hijos. Los dos.
…my Mate. Always. Always. But somehow, after 37 years–increasingly.
So…freakin…grateful!!!!!
Know what? I could do this all day. How ’bout you? What’s at the top of your gratitude list? HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
PS–don’t forget to #optoutside this Black Friday!
What’s your M.O. when your creative brain refuses to buckle down and do its thing?
Here’s me the other day, arguing with my Muse:
Me: OK, so, Vivian [new character in Book 3] originally was going to ___________, but now I need her to ____________ instead. [sorry–no spoilers!]
Muse: la, la, la, I can’t hear youuuu….
Me: Help me out here! If Vivian _______ then Jocelyn would have to ___________, and that’s totally out of character. What should I do?
Muse: Well, I dunno, maybe you could–ooh, shiny! Squirrel! All other indicators that my attention is elsewhere!
Don’t know what you do in this scenario. Me? I took my Muse for a walk in the wind. It took an hour and a half, but when we got back, I had my plot unsnarled, and hey! I got some exercise too.
This has happened to me enough that I even wrote a song about it. Don’t have a recording good enough to share, but all you need are the lyrics:
Muse
My Muse detests the interstate—in fact she hates to drive
But set my bike on a country road and then she might arrive.
My Muse is happiest outdoors; she’s never at the mall
And in a doctor’s waiting room I can’t find her at all.
But walk along a windy shore and soon she’s joining me
To whisper, prompt, or point me toward what she needs m to see.
She doesn’t love computer keys, but visits when I think
With notebook full of paper and a pen with real ink.
Her favorite drink is Earl Grey—it makes her twirl and leap,
But though wine may make me cheerful, it puts her right to sleep.
She’ll drop in when I exercise; she loves to see me sweat—
Not in a gym all safe and warm, but out in the wind and wet.
A nest of pillows on the couch she doesn’t seem to min
But never if there’s company of the distracting kind
Unless it be a small café with loud, generic din
Then she’ll consent to visit me to lay her treasures in.
But if I’m stuck inside a car, she’ll trail sadly along
And toss me wisps of poetry to turn into a song.
And though the life I call her to is busy, loud and crude,
She’s granted me these humble lines to show my gratitude.
Yeah. So that’s me. What do you do to get your Muse to settle down? Go for a walk, then let me know.
Have you heard about Dan Price yet? He’s the CEO of Seattle’s Gravity Payments, a company that streamlines credit card payments for other companies. He’s a multi-millionaire. And he just slashed his own salary to $70,000 in order to make $70,000 the “minimum wage” of ALL 120 of his employees.
I love this guy! Not only does he look like the baby that Jesus and Brad Pitt would have if they could have a baby (which I’m pretty sure Jesus could make happen if He wanted to), Dan Price has has figured out a way to make capitalism palatable to people like Bernie Sanders and, well, me: pay every member of your company enough to let them live comfortably.
Let me break that down.
Enough to live COMFORTABLY. Dan Price studied enough economists’s work to determine $70,000 as the minimum annual salary required to live a working life, without being consumed by issues of rent-payments or oh-no-the-car-just-broke-down crises.
Pay EVERY member of your company. Office Manager? Yes. Janitor? Yes. Parking lot attendant? Yes. Security Gua–look, what is it about “every member” that you don’t get?
INC. Magazine put him on its November cover: “Is This The Best Boss in America?” with this tag line:
Dan Price decided to pay all 120 employees at least $70,000. Grown men cried. Profits soared. Then things got really crazy.
I first saw Dan Price interviewed by The Daily Show’s Trevor Noah, but Comedy Central’s not ready to part with that clip for free. So here’s Mr. Price making his announcement to his staff on MSNBC’s Morning Joe, back in April
And here he is, explaining further at the Aspen Ideas Festival:
Could this CEO-with-a-heart idea catch on? Has it already? I know what Donald Trump would say, but what do you think? Does anyone know of any other companies already going this route? I want to hear more.
Gardens are like children. Gardens ARE children. We fret over them, nourish them, exclaim and grieve and exult in them. We celebrate the way they enrich our lives. And we take lots of naps to recover from them.
I gardened vigorously for 20 years in our old life in Tacoma. When The Mate retired and we moved to this beautiful island to begin our new lives, I decided to let my fellow islanders do my gardening for me. They do it so well! And I feel good about supporting their work, which in turn gives me beautiful farmland to ride my bike through.
But. Come harvest time, when everyone is bragging and posting about their adorable new peas (fall) or tomatoes (summer) or apples (fall), I feel a twinge of nostalgia…and envy. More than a twinge.
Maybe next year I should think about putting in my own garden again…?
You said you weren’t going to tie yourself down to watering and weeding any more. You love your freedom, remember?
But I love baby arugula too.
Stay strong! Go to the Farmers Market!
But this year, I found the best answer to those inner promptings: the Grandgarden. Son Two took up residence nearby last spring, and asked “if it was OK” if he put in a garden in our unused garden space.
Gosh, lemme think about that…OK, done.
Son Two came and went throughout spring and summer. I occasionally, very occasionally, garden-sat–i.e., watered. I did NO weeding. But harvesting and eating? Plenty. Kale, beets, tomatoes, tomatillos, carrots, salad greens, potatoes, herbs. My Grandgarden’s tiny and fairly limited, but I don’t blame Son Two–I mean, he’s a single dad, after all, and new at this. I’m full of pride–and my fridge was full of veggies.
Now in the darker months, even though my Grandgarden’s not getting much sun, it’s still doggedly producing Grandgreens. We even had a Grandsquash the other night! I forgot to take a picture of that, but here’s my Grandarugula:
I know. She gets that tenderness from her grandpa.
But I doubt Son Two will be around next spring to produce a Grandsibling. So it may be up to me. Oh dear, here come those inner voices again…
“I went through so much more with puberty than any normal kid would go through by trying to understand myself and who I was. It’s not anything someone should have to face. It was scary.” So says Victor Lopez, a female-to-male transgender 17 year-old highlighted in a story on transgender teens I just read by Natalie Pattillo on Al-Jazeera.com.
My thought? “Normal” puberty was hard enough! Being a girl, dealing with cramps, with period accidents, worrying about making it to the bathroom in time, worrying about stains…
Now imagine that the onset of each period felt like a betrayal. You feel like a boy. To yourself, you’ve always been a boy. Now your body says otherwise, and to deal with that fact, you have to make the choice: Girls’ bathroom, where I feel like an intruder, but at least have some privacy? Or boys’ bathroom, where I feel I belong but risk being bullied or beaten?
This is one of the basic struggles of transgender kids. The article quotes Dr. Johanna Olson-Kennedy, the medical director at the Center for Transyouth Health and Development at Children’s Hospital in Los Angeles:
“Unfortunately, many gender nonconforming and transgender youth will make the decision not to use restroom facilities at all during the day, which will leave them at risk for urinary tract infections and other medical consequences.”
Sorry to be so graphic, but it’s this kind of super-basic, I-can-relate dilemma that enabled me to think about this issue. I admit that I’ve had trouble wrapping my mind around the idea of transgender kids. Growing up, a family friend transitioned from male to female, but that person was middle-aged. Kids switching genders? Really? Aren’t they just looking for attention?
The mom of one such kid addresses that thought directly in the article:
She says she has encountered skeptical people who believe teens like Jordan are seeking attention or just going through a phase. She asks them why anyone would seek out “what society puts any gay, lesbian or transgender person through.” For gender-nonconforming young people like her son, she says, it’s terrifying to hear about suicide rates, bigotry and murders of transgender people.
That mom is right. Why WOULD anyone seek out that struggle? How could that be any fun? When I think about it, the only empathetic response to transgender kids is…empathy. Adolescence is hard enough. Therefore my heart goes out to all those kids, their families, their friends. Hang in there.
Do you love receiving unsolicited catalogs in the mail? Then by all means, don’t read this.
You know that scene in “Dead Poets Society” where Robin Williams’ character makes his students rip the intro out of their poetry textbooks? “Begone, J. Edwin Pritchard!” “I don’t hear enough rrrrip!”
That’s who I think of when I use Catalog Choice to rid myself of the disturbing wasteful downright stupid unwanted catalogs clogging up my mailbox. “Begone, ‘Bed, Bath & Beyond’! Never darken my doorway again, ‘Jockey’! ‘ Walmart’–I said good DAY.”
I LOVE Catalog Choice. I love knowing I DO have a choice, and a method, of reducing the amount of costly junk mail swirling around me–and when I say “costly” I’m referring to the whole process, from cutting down the tree to my fellow citizens having to haul all that recycling off our island.
Never tried it? Here’s all you do: Go to catalogchoice.org and create your profile. It costs nothing. (They do ask for a donation, but again–your choice.) From there, every time you receive an unwanted catalog, all you do is log in, type the name of the catalog you wish to divorce yourself from, enter the codes printed on the back of the catalog, and–hey presto, it’s out of your life. (Catalog Choice even includes a way for you to report bad catalogs who refuse to listen to you the first time and keep showing up, though this hasn’t happened to me yet.)
Of course there are those catalogs with whom I enjoy a happy, lifetime relationship. (Talking to YOU, REI–and thanks again for opting out of Black Friday.) I would never “Catalog Choice” them out of my life. ‘Cabela’s’? No thanks. But ‘King Arthur Flour,’ you can snuggle on over here…
We probably all have more “losers” than “keepers” when it comes to catalogs. Want to share your top 3 keepers? I’m listening. (But for the rest–tell ’em to get lost.)
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