When I started elementary school, there was no missive more coveted among my classmates than an invitation to a birthday party at Starlight Roller Rink. We all knew that a Starlight birthday party guaranteed an hour of roller skating fun that culminated in the Hokey Pokey and Chicken Dance under a flashing disco ball, followed by a cupcake with a four-inch-high swirl of neon-colored frosting, and a keychain made from a rabbit foot that had been dyed an unnatural rainbow hue. Preferably (but rarely) bright pink.
The “lucky” rabbit’s foot: Kindergarten’s most desirable trinket.
I’m not sure how many I ended up with over the years before Chuck E. Cheese became the hot birthday spot. Several. I would latch the ball-chains they came on together to create a weird, multi-colored foot fetish to which I assigned vague, mystical powers. It was a soft, strokable talisman on which I could wish for extra toys or stickers, or maybe more invitations to parties at Starlight Roller Rink.
I never gave a thought to the actual rabbits involved.
The only time that the feet seemed “real” to me - in the sense that they had been taken from a living creature - was when I was scratched by the claws, which could leave welts and sometimes draw blood. The claws were dyed the same, unnatural color as the fur, and so would blend in - forgettable - until they struck back against an unwary child who had thought of the foot as a benign stuffed animal rather than part of a once-living animal.
On those occasions, it struck me: This was a foot! From a rabbit! A soft, cuddly, warm, fuzzy rabbit.
That is now dead.
It was an unpleasant thought. So I didn't think too hard about it.
It’s amazing what you can not think about, if you just try hard enough to put it out of your mind.
..........
Some of my friends recently got their daughter a pair of rabbits as a 4-H project. I have only seen their pictures online, but they appear to be some awesomely cute bunnies. And, despite the fact that 4-H is - in essence - an agricultural group (and “agricultural” activities generally culminate in some sort of "harvesting" process, right?) I’m sure that these bunnies are pets. They don't need to fear either the plate or a piecemeal transformation into keychains and other gegaws.
Because, for a lot of us, that’s what bunnies have become: pets. They are cute and fluffy; they hop around and do adorable things like wiggle their nose and ears. At some point they used these skills to jump (or burrow under) the conceptual fence within which we enclose "food" or "livestock" and cuddle their way into the "pets" enclosure that surrounds dogs and cats.
Lucky rabbits, for sure.
..........
People and - by extension - cultures, have innate organizational schemes that condition the way they categorize the world around them. One of the areas where these beliefs and categorizations are most fascinating and diverse is the realm of food. Which plants and animals are edible? How must they be cooked? How can they be combined? When can they be served? To whom?
The variety of answers can be mind-boggling.
It goes without saying that - in modern American culture - we don't eat things that we consider "pets."
A few years ago, I bought a reprint of the 1975 edition of the Joy of Cooking. At the time, I purchased it out of a sense of nostalgia for the edition my mom had when I was growing up. I clearly remember it being out in our kitchen as she cooked: it rested in a handy, clear lucite stand that protected it from drips and splashes.
It is easy to see why it was such a presence in her kitchen and why it remains one in mine: if there is something that needs cooking, the Joy of Cooking will tell you how to do it.
One of the things that makes my 1975 edition interesting - at least in my mind - is a section entitled "Game." It is entirely devoted to explaining how to cook a variety of animals, starting with rabbits and squirrels (these are considered likely enough candidates for consumption that they include diagrams that show how to skin and eviscerate them), and progressing through possums, porcupines, raccoons, muskrats, woodchucks, beavers (and - separate section - beaver tails), armadillos, venison (deer, moose, or elk), bears, peccaries, and wild boars.
When I first purchased the cookbook, this section seemed quaint and amusing. After all, who on Earth would consider a beaver tail to be food?
(Answer: "To Indians and settlers alike, this portion of the animal was considered the greatest." Yum!)
Now, my 1975 Joy of Cooking seems less quaint and more like a lens into an earlier reality. There was a time - not so long ago - when enough people in American might, on occasion, eat wild animals - including beaver, muskrats, and porcupines - that it was useful to have instructions on dressing and cooking them for the table.
And not in just any cookbook; not in some random niche cookbook for hunters: in The Joy of Cooking.
Of course, as exotic and weird as it might seem to eat an armadillo, possum, or porcupine, even that would be less preposterous than eating a pet. The 1975 edition of The Joy of Cooking does not include a section on dogs, cats or horses.
Because, in our culture, eating a bear might be weird, but eating a dog is just wrong.
..........
Soon after I started pondering a self-reliance initiative, the question arose as to which animal is the most efficient to raise and butcher on a small scale. Opinions differ, but rabbits get mentioned quite a bit: they breed prolifically and mature quickly on a reasonable amount of feed. When well kept they aren't prone to disease, and they produce loads of useful manure that can be returned to the garden.
Win-win-win!
The problem that arises with meat rabbits is that they have jumped the conceptual fence between "food" and "pet." As one forum participant put it, "some people will act like you are eating your dog."
Which, of course, is considered good eats in some cultures.
..........
There is a scene in the movie "Roger and Me" in which Michael Moore is talking to a woman about her rabbits. Which she is raising for consumption.
It's not necessarily for the faint of heart.
I will be the first to admit that banging a bunny over the head with a metal pipe wouldn't be my personal choice for dispatching a rabbit. I would guess that there are quicker and more humane methods - I've heard the rabbit wringer is a good choice, but it is still shocking to watch.
But, however you do it, there is no sugar coating the fact that an animal just died.
It usually goes without saying that you shouldn't look at the comments on anything posted on the internet: people say some awful things. But I found the comments on the YouTube page from which the Roger and Me video comes interesting. There were, of course, some discussing Michael Moore (he's kind of a flashpoint for opinions, no?).
But, beyond that, most of the comments seemed to fall into two categories: (1) this woman is evil and awful because she just killed a cute, fluffy pet bunny; and (2) well, you gotta eat.
And, if you eat meat, you sort of have to accept the fact that something not unlike what happened to that rabbit happens to each and every one of the animals we consume.
They are killed.
..........
And suddenly it occurs to me that there is a way to sugar coat the fact that an animal just died: the shrink-wrap plastic that covers all the meat you buy in a supermarket.
It is simple, in our modern society, to go to the store and buy a piece of meat. Some, like a roasting chicken, still kind of resemble the animal that they once were. Many have been reduced to parts and pieces; packages of wings and breasts and ribs. Others have become ground beef or sausage; packages completely unlike the cattle and pigs from which they came.
You can buy the meat without having to watch the death. That's some serious sugar coating.
Given the way in which meat is packaged, it is unsurprising that my son - who sees living chickens on a fairly regular basis - still doesn't seem to believe that the animal "chicken" and the meat "chicken" are the same thing. He seems to believe that like "son" and "sun," or "rock" and "rock music" they are just dissimilar things that have the same name.
And why not? A pound of ground turkey has no apparent relationship to an actual bird.
But, as with every animal we eat - like the rabbit in the video above - animal products we purchased came from beings that lived and died.
It's just that, when we buy meat from the supermarket, we know nothing about those lives and those deaths. We are purchasing the depersonalization - the not knowing about an animal's life and death. We are purchasing the freedom from having to kill an animal about which we might care.
Because that would be cruel, right? To kill something we had nurtured and raised?
Well... It certainly won't feel good for us. It's unpleasant to watch anything die.
The fact is, though, that there is ample information about the lives of animals in large-scale livestock production to inform us about their lives. And deaths. You can find it, should you care to look into the industry that provides us with most of the meat wrapped in cellophane in the store.
It isn't pretty.
And it is that - the not knowing - the depersonalization - the unwillingness to look - that, to me, seems cruel. To accept the meat while looking away from both the death, and - more importantly - the cruelty of the life.
Cruelty is raising an animal in cramped, poor conditions and then butchering and selling them in a manner that renders them into a commodity and not a life.
It is easy, in modern America, to buy a package of chicken breasts at the store, and not think about the animals they came from. At least, it's easier on the people involved. It's not easier on the animals.
..........
It is amazing what you can not think about, if you just try hard enough to put it out of your mind.
The act of doing things for yourself is, in essence, the practice of not putting such things out of your mind. Of realizing and appreciating that eating meat takes a life.
In that context, far from being cruel, facing the reality of eating meat - and the taking of a life that it requires - seems significantly more humane than the wrapped, disembodied pieces of meat from the grocery store. It acknowledges what has truly happened and, despite the moment of bringing death, it is possible to ensure that the life has been decent, and the end is swift.
..........
Knowing this - and saying it - doesn't make it easier to contemplate killing and skinning a rabbit: they still seem like pets to me.
But it does make me realize that if I am going to do make a real attempt at self-reliance, I can't continue to rely on packaged meat from the store.
..........
Rabbit feet, as it turns out, carry symbolic meaning in a number of cultures around the world - not just suburban elementary-school kids of late-20th century America.
It makes sense. The only places on the globe where rabbits or hares are not native are Antarctica and Oceania. Humans have had plenty of time to coexist with rabbits; to hunt, raise, eat, and develop mythology about them. Across all that time and space, the foot of the rabbit remains one part that has few clear-cut uses - which makes it the sort of object that can easily be loaded with alternate meanings.
My favorite legend of the lucky rabbit's foot states that such a talisman could only be created when it was taken from an apprentice hunter's first kill - a relic that marked their growth and maturation, and represented their skill in the tasks they would need to assume to become an adult. In an individual life there would be only one such amulet - only one object to mark the acquisition of abilities.
The idea of marking life's transitions, of acknowledging them, resonates with me.
Such a lucky rabbit's foot would be very different story than the tchotchkes that I got, as a child, from roller-skating rink birthday parties. Items that were mass-produced from animals whose lives I don't want to contemplate and for which I wouldn't want to be responsible; by-products that were attached to brass caps and vat dyed in a factory somewhere to eventually be sold, in bulk, as "lucky" items.
As though luck could be mass produced.
And yet the difference between a rabbit's foot as an emblem of learning, accomplishment, and the transition to adulthood and the mass-produced bauble it has become in modern life seems not unlike the gulf between an animal that was raised with care and has been dispatched quickly and humanely and the masses of shrink-wrapped meat at the store.
It’s amazing what you can not think about, if you just try hard enough to put it out of your mind.
I believe that we do ourselves, and the animals, a disservice by looking away. Better to ensure that a life is humane and a death is swift, better to mark and acknowledge transitions from one stage to the next, than to look away and accept the mass-produced bounty and the cruelty that - though we don't see it - is still there, although it is made easier on us because we can look away.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Too Much
A few weeks ago, while blearily preparing breakfast for my kids, I hit a breaking point. The straw that broke this camel's back?
Ikea plates.
It's true. Pretty, plastic plates drove me insane.
..........
A few years ago, we got a set of multicolored, plastic, kid-friendly tableware from Ikea. Enigmatic Ikea codename: Kalas. (Which, in case you are ever on Jeopardy, translates to party, feast, banquet, spread, or junket. Good to know).
They do look like a festive little rainbow-hued party, don't they?
Once you get past the fact that they are plastic (albeit allegedly BPA-free plastic, like most things Ikea), they are fairly anodyne objects. Functional. Simple. Unbreakable. The cup is sort of tippy - it's not heavy enough on the bottom to give it much stability - so we've had more than our share of spills. Other than that, they are non-offensive. I had no complaints.
How can pretty, multicolored, reasonably functional plates be responsible for driving a housefrau right over the edge?
Too many choices.
Every morning (and afternoon, and evening) my kids would start off the meal specifying not only the foods that they will and won't eat (and that's a whole other post), but also the exact color of plate, bowl, and cup they will accept. I could be serving them ice cream, and they'd dicker about whether they will accept their Lobster Tracks in a green bowl.
Who on Earth dickers over Lobster Tracks - possibly the best ice cream flavor ever (the flavor my husband and I kept to ourselves for months by telling the kids it contained actual crustaceans - which they've never had but simply assume they'll hate) - because of the bowl color?
My kids.
It's ICE CREAM! Eat it from the green bowl! Without crying! Please? Please eat the ice cream? See how I covered it with sprinkles? It makes the green look blue. Please?
Anyway, on this particular morning, after spending several minutes sorting out which flavor of instant oatmeal everyone wanted (Maple and brown sugar? Cinnamon and spice? Apples and cinnamon? Cinnamon raisin? Peaches and cream? Bananas and cream? Strawberries and cream? Blueberries and cream? Regular?), I set down at the table two bowls of oats and two cups of milk and received - not thanks - but instant cries of dissatisfaction.
"I didn't want the blue bowl! I wanted pink!"
"My cup is green and my bowl is yellow! They don't match!"
Whaaaaat?
Seriously, kids, simmer down. Because:
A. I haven't even had my first cup of coffee - I haven't even made coffee yet - and I'm supposed to process this dissent? And...
B. Sans coffee, I have just managed to correctly deliver the apple cinnamon and strawberries and cream oatmeal to the child that requested it.
How is that not the most important thing about breakfast? How has this near-instantaneous and not unpalatable breakfast not been declared a raging success?
It's obvious how. Not based on the oats. It's those damn plates. The pretty, multicolored, reasonably functional Ikea plates. They made this breakfast - and every other meal I served my children - about something other than food. It's all about the Kalas.
The plates - specifically the variety of available colors - gave my kids too many ways in which to be disappointed.
And, frankly, I've got skills enough to disappoint my kids without the assistance of Ikea and their rainbow-hued plastic plates.
..........
While we are talking about ways in which I can disappoint my children, can we discuss the upcoming holidays?
Because I am having a hard time getting excited when I know that, no matter how much I give them, there will invariably end up being something I didn't - or couldn't - get.
A puppy, for instance.
And it's going to cast a shadow over everything they do get.
..........
A few years ago, when my mom sent out her annual holiday letter, she included a note that her grandmother wrote over a century ago when her children (my mother's father included) were ages six, four, and two. It tells of the Christmas gifts she was preparing for her three boys while in the mission field in Korea.
Pyeng Yang, Korea, Nov. 27,1900.
I have been having Christmas on my mind lately, and am trying to get something ready for the children. John wants more clothes for his doll and a little bureau to hold them in, and with the help of an empty condensed milk box, and a native carpenter, I guess we can satisfy him.
William's present has occupied me for several evenings, and has turned out such a success, that big William laughs at me for my enjoyment of it. It consists of a little pasteboard house set in the middle of a shallow wooden box, which answers for a yard. The house is six inches square, stuck all over with millet on the outside, and the roof covered with cereal coffee. Sprigs of cedar stuck in blocks answer for trees, and flowers cut from seed catalogues are pasted to little wooden blocks here and there over the yard. A horse and colt stand at the back door, and a cow, cat and dog are to be added. At the front of the house are a little boy and girl receiving an apple at the hands of Santa Claus, while mamma looks out from the font door. The little windows have lace curtains, and altogether I am sure that little William's wildest dreams will be realized. Will says the first thing will be a fight between the three of them for the possession of it.
Richard's present is not under way yet, but I think a rag doll will probably satisfy the longings of his heart.
..........
I have to say, it's nice to know that, as much as times changed over the last century, children fighting over the possession over a desirable toy isn't reflective of the failings of modern parenting in general, or my personal parental failings in particular.
Also of note: overuse of the comma may be genetic.
..........
Each gift was something my great-grandmother had considered carefully and spent some time creating. Something that she fashioned, or commissioned, using materials she had on hand. Items that were being reused. Nothing fancy. But it didn't have to be fancy - or have been made by elves and delivered by Santa - to be appreciated. Santa does make an appearance, though, and he brings apples. Apples.
I try to imagine my the reactions my kids would give to these toys.
Honestly, they would probably love them. My daughter would appreciate clothes for her doll. My son would enjoy a model house or a rag doll. But, having unwrapped these items, they would immediately look around for more.
More. Always more.
There are so many things to want in this world - for both children and adults - that it feels almost impossible to take time to appreciate what we already have. We are barraged with other options, or other choices; the knowledge that, though we have this thing - and it's great - there's something else that we don't have.
And there are a lot of things that we don't have. A world full of possible desires. And the knowledge that these other, desirable, unobtainable things are out there - in the hands of our friends, or in commercials on the television - diminishes our joy in the here and now.
What would happen if I turned back the clock? If I were to limit our Christmas to just a few things? Doll clothes and a dresser to hold them for one child. A doll for the other.
The resulting unhappiness wouldn't come from a failing of the gifts. It would come from the perception that there should have been more. A perception that derives from the culture of consumption that characterizes the current moment in America.
I speak of the unhappiness that would accompany a single, well-considered gift, but I think there is also an unhappiness of multiple gifts that don't truly satisfy wants and needs.
A decade ago, I had the chance to work retail as the holidays approached. With each day that passed, people became more and more harried and less happy. They were desperate not to find the right gift, but to simply find something, anything, that they could use to fill a box. The gift itself was unimportant - just a way to check a name off of the list.
In watching these customers, eyes bright with desperation, I began to wonder what the point of gifting is. If it is just a chore, why don't we just stop?
I don't have the answer, but the pondering brings me back to questions that rise again and again as I write this blog:
How do we live outside our own culture, in ways that are at odds with the prevailing zeitgeist?
And, more importantly,
How do we create cultural change?
..........
The Kalas are gone.
Starting that morning, I began to pack them up as they came through the dishwasher. For good measure, I tossed in all the plastic cups we have acquired from Moe's and Chili's (another source of discord). Now when we sit down to eat, we all eat from the one set of plates I keep in the house. Each bowl matches every other bowl. Each plate matches every other plate.
And...
For the first time in years, no one dickers about the color of their bowl. It's amazing.
I'm not going to lie, we still have bickering about a lot of things - variety packs of instant oatmeal remain problematic - but we aren't butting heads about tableware. And - given the results of removing the pretty, multicolored plates - we might have bought our last variety pack of oatmeal as well.
Sometimes it is just all too much. Too many things, and too many choices. Having more options than we can ever pursue leads to many, many paths not taken. More chances for regret.
Could we be happier with less? With fewer? Especially if the few were what we really wanted. Could you make do with one? If you really loved it? Consider it material monogamy. Does that help?
Would we enjoy the bowl of ice cream more if the sweet taste of caramel weren't following the salty sting of tears shed over a green bowl?
It seems almost like heresy to say it out loud, since we seem to live in the Age of More, but maybe all this stuff - choices, options, things - maybe it's just too much.
Ikea plates.
It's true. Pretty, plastic plates drove me insane.
..........
A few years ago, we got a set of multicolored, plastic, kid-friendly tableware from Ikea. Enigmatic Ikea codename: Kalas. (Which, in case you are ever on Jeopardy, translates to party, feast, banquet, spread, or junket. Good to know).
They do look like a festive little rainbow-hued party, don't they?
Once you get past the fact that they are plastic (albeit allegedly BPA-free plastic, like most things Ikea), they are fairly anodyne objects. Functional. Simple. Unbreakable. The cup is sort of tippy - it's not heavy enough on the bottom to give it much stability - so we've had more than our share of spills. Other than that, they are non-offensive. I had no complaints.How can pretty, multicolored, reasonably functional plates be responsible for driving a housefrau right over the edge?
Too many choices.
Every morning (and afternoon, and evening) my kids would start off the meal specifying not only the foods that they will and won't eat (and that's a whole other post), but also the exact color of plate, bowl, and cup they will accept. I could be serving them ice cream, and they'd dicker about whether they will accept their Lobster Tracks in a green bowl.
Who on Earth dickers over Lobster Tracks - possibly the best ice cream flavor ever (the flavor my husband and I kept to ourselves for months by telling the kids it contained actual crustaceans - which they've never had but simply assume they'll hate) - because of the bowl color?
My kids.
It's ICE CREAM! Eat it from the green bowl! Without crying! Please? Please eat the ice cream? See how I covered it with sprinkles? It makes the green look blue. Please?
Anyway, on this particular morning, after spending several minutes sorting out which flavor of instant oatmeal everyone wanted (Maple and brown sugar? Cinnamon and spice? Apples and cinnamon? Cinnamon raisin? Peaches and cream? Bananas and cream? Strawberries and cream? Blueberries and cream? Regular?), I set down at the table two bowls of oats and two cups of milk and received - not thanks - but instant cries of dissatisfaction.
"I didn't want the blue bowl! I wanted pink!"
"My cup is green and my bowl is yellow! They don't match!"
Whaaaaat?
Seriously, kids, simmer down. Because:
A. I haven't even had my first cup of coffee - I haven't even made coffee yet - and I'm supposed to process this dissent? And...
B. Sans coffee, I have just managed to correctly deliver the apple cinnamon and strawberries and cream oatmeal to the child that requested it.
How is that not the most important thing about breakfast? How has this near-instantaneous and not unpalatable breakfast not been declared a raging success?
It's obvious how. Not based on the oats. It's those damn plates. The pretty, multicolored, reasonably functional Ikea plates. They made this breakfast - and every other meal I served my children - about something other than food. It's all about the Kalas.
The plates - specifically the variety of available colors - gave my kids too many ways in which to be disappointed.
And, frankly, I've got skills enough to disappoint my kids without the assistance of Ikea and their rainbow-hued plastic plates.
..........
While we are talking about ways in which I can disappoint my children, can we discuss the upcoming holidays?
Because I am having a hard time getting excited when I know that, no matter how much I give them, there will invariably end up being something I didn't - or couldn't - get.
A puppy, for instance.
And it's going to cast a shadow over everything they do get.
..........
A few years ago, when my mom sent out her annual holiday letter, she included a note that her grandmother wrote over a century ago when her children (my mother's father included) were ages six, four, and two. It tells of the Christmas gifts she was preparing for her three boys while in the mission field in Korea.
Pyeng Yang, Korea, Nov. 27,1900.
I have been having Christmas on my mind lately, and am trying to get something ready for the children. John wants more clothes for his doll and a little bureau to hold them in, and with the help of an empty condensed milk box, and a native carpenter, I guess we can satisfy him.
William's present has occupied me for several evenings, and has turned out such a success, that big William laughs at me for my enjoyment of it. It consists of a little pasteboard house set in the middle of a shallow wooden box, which answers for a yard. The house is six inches square, stuck all over with millet on the outside, and the roof covered with cereal coffee. Sprigs of cedar stuck in blocks answer for trees, and flowers cut from seed catalogues are pasted to little wooden blocks here and there over the yard. A horse and colt stand at the back door, and a cow, cat and dog are to be added. At the front of the house are a little boy and girl receiving an apple at the hands of Santa Claus, while mamma looks out from the font door. The little windows have lace curtains, and altogether I am sure that little William's wildest dreams will be realized. Will says the first thing will be a fight between the three of them for the possession of it.
Richard's present is not under way yet, but I think a rag doll will probably satisfy the longings of his heart.
..........
I have to say, it's nice to know that, as much as times changed over the last century, children fighting over the possession over a desirable toy isn't reflective of the failings of modern parenting in general, or my personal parental failings in particular.
Also of note: overuse of the comma may be genetic.
..........
Each gift was something my great-grandmother had considered carefully and spent some time creating. Something that she fashioned, or commissioned, using materials she had on hand. Items that were being reused. Nothing fancy. But it didn't have to be fancy - or have been made by elves and delivered by Santa - to be appreciated. Santa does make an appearance, though, and he brings apples. Apples.
I try to imagine my the reactions my kids would give to these toys.
Honestly, they would probably love them. My daughter would appreciate clothes for her doll. My son would enjoy a model house or a rag doll. But, having unwrapped these items, they would immediately look around for more.
More. Always more.
There are so many things to want in this world - for both children and adults - that it feels almost impossible to take time to appreciate what we already have. We are barraged with other options, or other choices; the knowledge that, though we have this thing - and it's great - there's something else that we don't have.
And there are a lot of things that we don't have. A world full of possible desires. And the knowledge that these other, desirable, unobtainable things are out there - in the hands of our friends, or in commercials on the television - diminishes our joy in the here and now.
What would happen if I turned back the clock? If I were to limit our Christmas to just a few things? Doll clothes and a dresser to hold them for one child. A doll for the other.
The resulting unhappiness wouldn't come from a failing of the gifts. It would come from the perception that there should have been more. A perception that derives from the culture of consumption that characterizes the current moment in America.
I speak of the unhappiness that would accompany a single, well-considered gift, but I think there is also an unhappiness of multiple gifts that don't truly satisfy wants and needs.
A decade ago, I had the chance to work retail as the holidays approached. With each day that passed, people became more and more harried and less happy. They were desperate not to find the right gift, but to simply find something, anything, that they could use to fill a box. The gift itself was unimportant - just a way to check a name off of the list.
In watching these customers, eyes bright with desperation, I began to wonder what the point of gifting is. If it is just a chore, why don't we just stop?
I don't have the answer, but the pondering brings me back to questions that rise again and again as I write this blog:
How do we live outside our own culture, in ways that are at odds with the prevailing zeitgeist?
And, more importantly,
How do we create cultural change?
..........
The Kalas are gone.
Starting that morning, I began to pack them up as they came through the dishwasher. For good measure, I tossed in all the plastic cups we have acquired from Moe's and Chili's (another source of discord). Now when we sit down to eat, we all eat from the one set of plates I keep in the house. Each bowl matches every other bowl. Each plate matches every other plate.
And...
For the first time in years, no one dickers about the color of their bowl. It's amazing.
I'm not going to lie, we still have bickering about a lot of things - variety packs of instant oatmeal remain problematic - but we aren't butting heads about tableware. And - given the results of removing the pretty, multicolored plates - we might have bought our last variety pack of oatmeal as well.
Sometimes it is just all too much. Too many things, and too many choices. Having more options than we can ever pursue leads to many, many paths not taken. More chances for regret.
Could we be happier with less? With fewer? Especially if the few were what we really wanted. Could you make do with one? If you really loved it? Consider it material monogamy. Does that help?
Would we enjoy the bowl of ice cream more if the sweet taste of caramel weren't following the salty sting of tears shed over a green bowl?
It seems almost like heresy to say it out loud, since we seem to live in the Age of More, but maybe all this stuff - choices, options, things - maybe it's just too much.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Education and Community
I said it in Boxing Day, and I'll start again with it here. If there is one notion that underpins my self-sufficiency project, it is this:
There's an awful lot of important and useful stuff I didn't learn when I was growing up.
In writing that, I was thinking about the fact that my education - an excellent one - focused on advanced academics at the expense of practical knowledge. I never took a class in which I was asked to build anything, or plumb anything, or sew anything, or change my oil, or cook anything, or learn how to organize my finances. All of which are skills that people in our culture will require at some point or other. I believe that the rationale was that, as a college-bound, future white-collar worker, I would be paying other people to do those things for me.
Now, a couple of decades out of high school, I see that focusing on academics at the expense of other lessons hasn't been in my best interest. And I'm setting out to fill in those holes.
This post isn't about me, however. It is about the next generation, and it starts with this truth:
Focusing on academics at the expense of other realms of knowledge does not produce well-rounded adults.
..........
Here is another truth: Money is tight.
..........
Last night there was a school board meeting at our local school (which provides education for kids from Kindergarten through the eighth grade). The purpose was to start a discussion about which programs are targeted for "increased efficiency" so that our supervisory union (sort of a district) can cut 1.59% from its budget as (sort-of) required by Challenges for Change.
It's not quite required. It's apparently voluntary with the the not-so-gently implied subtext that, if we don't comply voluntarily, sterner measures will be taken.
Just like dinner time at our house.
In any event, Challenges for Change specifies that savings will be generated by making government more efficient, not by decreasing the services that are offered.
There are a lot of adjectives that I want to be able to apply to the education my children receive: excellent; well-rounded; challenging; enjoyable; useful.
I'm not so sure that "efficient" is one of them.
For me, "efficient" conjures up images of Big Macs and factory farming. Of a one-size-fits-all approach. Imagine how efficient our school system could be if all the children it served needed the exact same resources! If they being raised and taught so that they can step into roles as interchangeable cogs in a machine!
But they aren't.
They are kids. And they will grow up to be adults who need to be able to step into all the varied roles that our world requires.
..........
But, money is tight. So we need to use it more wisely. More efficiently.
..........
The principal - whose shoes I wouldn't want to be in right now - identified several programs that could be made more efficient without decreasing services. A feat that will be accomplished by eliminating some positions entirely, stretching the remaining staff tighter to cover the absolute necessities, and then eliminating what can't be covered.
Areas that will take the hit: nursing, health, and physical education (where p.e. teachers will pick up some of the health classes); guidance and therapy; music; and para-educators.
None of these programs will be eliminated entirely. There will still be music. There will still be a nurse. There will simply be fewer people to staff these programs.
Services will not be diminished.
Reduction without diminishing.
After they pull that off, I'll wait anxiously for them to pull a bunny out of a top hat.
..........
What is the goal of education?
Our most recent President Bush once observed, "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"
I disagree. I think that is all too often the only question that is being asked. Children take tests. And we see test results. And schools are rated accordingly.
We aren't just raising children to take tests, though. Or, at least, we shouldn't be. We should be raising kids to step into their roles as members of our future communities.
You know what communities need? Communities need to be healthy. They need music and theater, and drama projects that they work on as a group. They need therapy for individuals and families who are struggling with emotional issues which - left unaddressed - might boil up into larger problems. They need as many people around as possible to pitch in and help with one-on-one attention so that no one falls behind.
We shouldn't only ask if our children are learning. We should ask if they are being given the time, tools, and attention they need to become full members of the community in which we want to live.
Not just my children. Or your children. Not just the ones we love.
Every child.
Even if you don't agree with their parents. If you think their parents are shiftless and lazy and should just get a job. Each and every child in America today will be a part of the larger community in which you live tomorrow.
What kind of place do you want it to be?
..........
A woman said to me, regarding the cuts, something to the effect of, "I'm glad we home school. This won't impact us."
I disagree.
Unless you are planning to never let your children - or the adults they become - interact within an extended community beyond your home, or your private school, what happens in the public education system will impact them.
It will impact all of us.
We cannot pick and choose the individuals in our world whose choices and actions will be the ones that effect us the most. So, please, let's all choose to do the best job we can to make sure that every child has the support, and resources, and nurturing, and creative outlets, and therapy, and food that they need to become the community members that we want and need them to be.
Starving them of these things might be more efficient. It might be cheaper now. But the long-term costs, the externalized costs - as with factory farming or a world of processed Big Macs - will be greater in the end.
.........
But there's no money. Times are tight. Something has to be cut.
Under the plan presented last night, the children still have some music classes. There is still a nurse if someone throws up or gets hurt. Hopefully the children who need therapy will find some other programs and not fall through the cracks.
I hope they don't fall through the cracks.
We were reminded again and again that our district - our school - actually already had more of these things than are standard in our state. That we should be willing to do with less.
Maybe if the people who have to make these difficult decisions were reading this, they would toss the tough calls back to me. "You make the cuts. You find the 1.59% and get rid of it."
I don't know. I don't know what program I would cut from a school.
I don't have the answers. I'm not alleging that I do.
We don't know what program will inspire one child in our community to greatness. It could be academics. Or sports. Or the chance to sing a song in a musical.
We also don't know what absence will be the crack that leads to tragedy. The lack of available nursing care at a crucial moment. Or a teacher's aide who can take the extra time to work with a child who is falling behind. Or a therapist who is available to connect a child with the counseling that they need.
What is the possible toll of all that efficiency?
..........
Money is tight.
It is a reality for families. For our town. For our state. For our country.
I don't have the answers.
But I want to say this: Our public schools are the garden in which we grow the individuals who will sustain our future communities. Our future country.
To restrict what they need - to be efficient with their education - is to starve our future.
It isn't simply a question for our town - for our school board. We should ask our administrators to be as creative as possible, but we can't lay the onus of these cuts at their feet. Just as it is difficult - sometimes impossible - for individuals to behave in ways that differ from the dictates of our larger culture, it is hard for schools to operate outside the dictates of districts, states, and our federal government.
Rarely is the question asked: Are America's children learning the skills they need to become a community?
Maybe we should start asking that question.
..........
There's an awful lot of important and useful stuff I didn't learn when I was growing up.
I didn't learn to sew. But I'll be okay in the end.
What won't today's children learn? What happens if what they don't learn - what they don't receive from their education - impacts all of us?
There's an awful lot of important and useful stuff I didn't learn when I was growing up.
In writing that, I was thinking about the fact that my education - an excellent one - focused on advanced academics at the expense of practical knowledge. I never took a class in which I was asked to build anything, or plumb anything, or sew anything, or change my oil, or cook anything, or learn how to organize my finances. All of which are skills that people in our culture will require at some point or other. I believe that the rationale was that, as a college-bound, future white-collar worker, I would be paying other people to do those things for me.
Now, a couple of decades out of high school, I see that focusing on academics at the expense of other lessons hasn't been in my best interest. And I'm setting out to fill in those holes.
This post isn't about me, however. It is about the next generation, and it starts with this truth:
Focusing on academics at the expense of other realms of knowledge does not produce well-rounded adults.
..........
Here is another truth: Money is tight.
..........
Last night there was a school board meeting at our local school (which provides education for kids from Kindergarten through the eighth grade). The purpose was to start a discussion about which programs are targeted for "increased efficiency" so that our supervisory union (sort of a district) can cut 1.59% from its budget as (sort-of) required by Challenges for Change.
It's not quite required. It's apparently voluntary with the the not-so-gently implied subtext that, if we don't comply voluntarily, sterner measures will be taken.
Just like dinner time at our house.
In any event, Challenges for Change specifies that savings will be generated by making government more efficient, not by decreasing the services that are offered.
There are a lot of adjectives that I want to be able to apply to the education my children receive: excellent; well-rounded; challenging; enjoyable; useful.
I'm not so sure that "efficient" is one of them.
For me, "efficient" conjures up images of Big Macs and factory farming. Of a one-size-fits-all approach. Imagine how efficient our school system could be if all the children it served needed the exact same resources! If they being raised and taught so that they can step into roles as interchangeable cogs in a machine!
But they aren't.
They are kids. And they will grow up to be adults who need to be able to step into all the varied roles that our world requires.
..........
But, money is tight. So we need to use it more wisely. More efficiently.
..........
The principal - whose shoes I wouldn't want to be in right now - identified several programs that could be made more efficient without decreasing services. A feat that will be accomplished by eliminating some positions entirely, stretching the remaining staff tighter to cover the absolute necessities, and then eliminating what can't be covered.
Areas that will take the hit: nursing, health, and physical education (where p.e. teachers will pick up some of the health classes); guidance and therapy; music; and para-educators.
None of these programs will be eliminated entirely. There will still be music. There will still be a nurse. There will simply be fewer people to staff these programs.
Services will not be diminished.
Reduction without diminishing.
After they pull that off, I'll wait anxiously for them to pull a bunny out of a top hat.
..........
What is the goal of education?
Our most recent President Bush once observed, "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"
I disagree. I think that is all too often the only question that is being asked. Children take tests. And we see test results. And schools are rated accordingly.
We aren't just raising children to take tests, though. Or, at least, we shouldn't be. We should be raising kids to step into their roles as members of our future communities.
You know what communities need? Communities need to be healthy. They need music and theater, and drama projects that they work on as a group. They need therapy for individuals and families who are struggling with emotional issues which - left unaddressed - might boil up into larger problems. They need as many people around as possible to pitch in and help with one-on-one attention so that no one falls behind.
We shouldn't only ask if our children are learning. We should ask if they are being given the time, tools, and attention they need to become full members of the community in which we want to live.
Not just my children. Or your children. Not just the ones we love.
Every child.
Even if you don't agree with their parents. If you think their parents are shiftless and lazy and should just get a job. Each and every child in America today will be a part of the larger community in which you live tomorrow.
What kind of place do you want it to be?
..........
A woman said to me, regarding the cuts, something to the effect of, "I'm glad we home school. This won't impact us."
I disagree.
Unless you are planning to never let your children - or the adults they become - interact within an extended community beyond your home, or your private school, what happens in the public education system will impact them.
It will impact all of us.
We cannot pick and choose the individuals in our world whose choices and actions will be the ones that effect us the most. So, please, let's all choose to do the best job we can to make sure that every child has the support, and resources, and nurturing, and creative outlets, and therapy, and food that they need to become the community members that we want and need them to be.
Starving them of these things might be more efficient. It might be cheaper now. But the long-term costs, the externalized costs - as with factory farming or a world of processed Big Macs - will be greater in the end.
.........
But there's no money. Times are tight. Something has to be cut.
Under the plan presented last night, the children still have some music classes. There is still a nurse if someone throws up or gets hurt. Hopefully the children who need therapy will find some other programs and not fall through the cracks.
I hope they don't fall through the cracks.
We were reminded again and again that our district - our school - actually already had more of these things than are standard in our state. That we should be willing to do with less.
Maybe if the people who have to make these difficult decisions were reading this, they would toss the tough calls back to me. "You make the cuts. You find the 1.59% and get rid of it."
I don't know. I don't know what program I would cut from a school.
I don't have the answers. I'm not alleging that I do.
We don't know what program will inspire one child in our community to greatness. It could be academics. Or sports. Or the chance to sing a song in a musical.
We also don't know what absence will be the crack that leads to tragedy. The lack of available nursing care at a crucial moment. Or a teacher's aide who can take the extra time to work with a child who is falling behind. Or a therapist who is available to connect a child with the counseling that they need.
What is the possible toll of all that efficiency?
..........
Money is tight.
It is a reality for families. For our town. For our state. For our country.
I don't have the answers.
But I want to say this: Our public schools are the garden in which we grow the individuals who will sustain our future communities. Our future country.
To restrict what they need - to be efficient with their education - is to starve our future.
It isn't simply a question for our town - for our school board. We should ask our administrators to be as creative as possible, but we can't lay the onus of these cuts at their feet. Just as it is difficult - sometimes impossible - for individuals to behave in ways that differ from the dictates of our larger culture, it is hard for schools to operate outside the dictates of districts, states, and our federal government.
Rarely is the question asked: Are America's children learning the skills they need to become a community?
Maybe we should start asking that question.
..........
There's an awful lot of important and useful stuff I didn't learn when I was growing up.
I didn't learn to sew. But I'll be okay in the end.
What won't today's children learn? What happens if what they don't learn - what they don't receive from their education - impacts all of us?
Friday, November 19, 2010
Creativity I
I'm a big fan of the New York Times Magazine.
Not enough to want to subscribe to a newspaper, though. I'm not a fan of newspapers. I have small kids so I never get around to reading everything; it always just ends up making a big pile of clutter that migrates around the house making me crazy; and then you have to recycle it, knowing as you do that some unspecified number of trees has died to bring you this information.
Three strikes. So no paper.
But I do like the New York Times Magazine. For several years my parents - who know we enjoy reading it and don't subscribe - would save all their copies of the magazine and send them to my husband and me a couple times a year. A much-appreciated deluge of sometimes out-of-date but otherwise excellent reading material.
Sometime after May of 2007, we received the magazine that contained this Freakonomics piece:
http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9D07E6D9133EF935A35756C0A9619C8B63&scp=3&sq=freakonomics%20tomato%20knit&st=cse&pagewanted=2
(Sorry it's not a clickable link - I can't seem to make those work).
In the article, the two economists behind Freakonomics mull over the apparent conundrum of adults spending time and money to perform "menial labor" when they don't have to.
The menial labor in question: gardening and knitting.
Tasks such as these aren't income-generating market work, they aren't housework (a.k.a. unpaid chores), and they aren't pure leisure, since they are work. How can the same activity to labor for one person and leisure for another?
In the end, the authors conclude that it is labor if someone else tells you to do it, leisure if you do it of your own volition, and that the desire to do such tasks are based in "incentives that go beyond the financial."
When I first read this article, the thing that struck me wasn't their conclusion, which seems like a reasonable tool for splitting the labor from the leisure.
No, I got stuck way back on the fourth paragraph:
"Isn't it puzzling that so many middle-aged Americans are spending so much of their time and money performing menial labors when they don't have to? Just as the radio and phonograph proved to be powerful substitutes for the piano, the forces of technology and capitalism have greatly eased the burden of feeding and clothing ourselves. So what's with all the knitting, gardening and ''cooking for fun''? Why do some forms of menial labor survive as hobbies while others have been killed off? (For instance, we can't think of a single person who, since the invention of the washing machine, practices ''laundry for fun.'') "
It's the last, parenthetical, question that gave me pause. How is it, I wondered, that these brilliant guys were puzzling mightily over something so blatantly obvious?
No one does laundry for fun because (correct me if I'm wrong) laundry isn't a creative activity. Other examples:
Changing diapers;
Doing the dishes;
Making mac 'n cheese and hot dogs that the kids will turn down again;
Taking out the trash.
You do them, you do them again, and then you do them again, all with the knowledge that - once they are done - you'll probably have to do them again. There is no tangible outcome (other than a clean home... which is nice).
Making a scarf, growing a garden, playing an instrument, landscaping your yard, weaving a basket, cooking a gourmet meal for friends, and brewing beer. Creative endeavors, all. Labor that has, as it's end product, a tangible item that can be enjoyed and admired and - importantly - serves to reflect information about it's creator. Whether it is a beer, a scarf, or the best-looking lawn on the block, it is displayed and shared as more than just a piece of clothing or a meal. It becomes a symbol of the creator.
Yes, it is labor that we could outsource. Some people choose not to because the payoff of creativity is, indeed, an incentive that goes beyond the financial.
I think that creativity and self-expression fill a need a basic human need. Talking about - and puzzling over - these tasks as just random chores we inexplicably don't outsource to Land's End and Whole Foods misses an entire facet of what it means to be human.
It is true that scarves are less expensive when they are mass-produced in an overseas factory and shipped to Wal-Mart. It's true that a bottle of tomato sauce made from tomatoes grown intensively in one location, shipped to another location for processing, and then to another to appear on a store shelf is less expensive than making your own, but only because we don't pay the true cost of the farming and shipping process.
It appears more efficient. The end product is cheaper. What I no longer buy is that either of those things is better. I also no longer buy the premise that earning as much money as possible in order to hire as many middle men as possible - at the lowest possible price - to make and grow the items that fill our basic human needs is better.
It doesn't feel better to me.
If the goal of the game of this cultural moment is to insulate ourselves from getting dirt under our fingernails supplying our own needs, I think I'm going to go play a different game.
Given the number of people who perform these "menial labors" in their free time, I suspect that I'm not the only one.
Not enough to want to subscribe to a newspaper, though. I'm not a fan of newspapers. I have small kids so I never get around to reading everything; it always just ends up making a big pile of clutter that migrates around the house making me crazy; and then you have to recycle it, knowing as you do that some unspecified number of trees has died to bring you this information.
Three strikes. So no paper.
But I do like the New York Times Magazine. For several years my parents - who know we enjoy reading it and don't subscribe - would save all their copies of the magazine and send them to my husband and me a couple times a year. A much-appreciated deluge of sometimes out-of-date but otherwise excellent reading material.
Sometime after May of 2007, we received the magazine that contained this Freakonomics piece:
http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9D07E6D9133EF935A35756C0A9619C8B63&scp=3&sq=freakonomics%20tomato%20knit&st=cse&pagewanted=2
(Sorry it's not a clickable link - I can't seem to make those work).
In the article, the two economists behind Freakonomics mull over the apparent conundrum of adults spending time and money to perform "menial labor" when they don't have to.
The menial labor in question: gardening and knitting.
Tasks such as these aren't income-generating market work, they aren't housework (a.k.a. unpaid chores), and they aren't pure leisure, since they are work. How can the same activity to labor for one person and leisure for another?
In the end, the authors conclude that it is labor if someone else tells you to do it, leisure if you do it of your own volition, and that the desire to do such tasks are based in "incentives that go beyond the financial."
When I first read this article, the thing that struck me wasn't their conclusion, which seems like a reasonable tool for splitting the labor from the leisure.
No, I got stuck way back on the fourth paragraph:
"Isn't it puzzling that so many middle-aged Americans are spending so much of their time and money performing menial labors when they don't have to? Just as the radio and phonograph proved to be powerful substitutes for the piano, the forces of technology and capitalism have greatly eased the burden of feeding and clothing ourselves. So what's with all the knitting, gardening and ''cooking for fun''? Why do some forms of menial labor survive as hobbies while others have been killed off? (For instance, we can't think of a single person who, since the invention of the washing machine, practices ''laundry for fun.'') "
It's the last, parenthetical, question that gave me pause. How is it, I wondered, that these brilliant guys were puzzling mightily over something so blatantly obvious?
No one does laundry for fun because (correct me if I'm wrong) laundry isn't a creative activity. Other examples:
Changing diapers;
Doing the dishes;
Making mac 'n cheese and hot dogs that the kids will turn down again;
Taking out the trash.
You do them, you do them again, and then you do them again, all with the knowledge that - once they are done - you'll probably have to do them again. There is no tangible outcome (other than a clean home... which is nice).
Making a scarf, growing a garden, playing an instrument, landscaping your yard, weaving a basket, cooking a gourmet meal for friends, and brewing beer. Creative endeavors, all. Labor that has, as it's end product, a tangible item that can be enjoyed and admired and - importantly - serves to reflect information about it's creator. Whether it is a beer, a scarf, or the best-looking lawn on the block, it is displayed and shared as more than just a piece of clothing or a meal. It becomes a symbol of the creator.
Yes, it is labor that we could outsource. Some people choose not to because the payoff of creativity is, indeed, an incentive that goes beyond the financial.
I think that creativity and self-expression fill a need a basic human need. Talking about - and puzzling over - these tasks as just random chores we inexplicably don't outsource to Land's End and Whole Foods misses an entire facet of what it means to be human.
It is true that scarves are less expensive when they are mass-produced in an overseas factory and shipped to Wal-Mart. It's true that a bottle of tomato sauce made from tomatoes grown intensively in one location, shipped to another location for processing, and then to another to appear on a store shelf is less expensive than making your own, but only because we don't pay the true cost of the farming and shipping process.
It appears more efficient. The end product is cheaper. What I no longer buy is that either of those things is better. I also no longer buy the premise that earning as much money as possible in order to hire as many middle men as possible - at the lowest possible price - to make and grow the items that fill our basic human needs is better.
It doesn't feel better to me.
If the goal of the game of this cultural moment is to insulate ourselves from getting dirt under our fingernails supplying our own needs, I think I'm going to go play a different game.
Given the number of people who perform these "menial labors" in their free time, I suspect that I'm not the only one.
Friday, November 12, 2010
It's Already Tomorrow in Australia.
I was driving to the dentist the other day when I passed a local hardware store. The store has a sign that they usually use to announce sales and whatnot but, on that day, they had up the following saying:
"The world can't end today, it's already tomorrow in Australia."
I laughed.
But I'm not convinced.
..........
Okay, I don't actually think the world is going to end today. (I'm less certain about tomorrow).
And, honestly, I don't believe that The World (as in the Earth) is likely to end at all. Is it going to be altered by humans? Yes. Are parts of it already pretty mucked up? Yes. But I think our planet is going to be revolving around the Sun for quite a while yet. We are changing it but, barring massive, all-out nuclear war, I don't think we'll end it.
I believe that by "The World" what we - or the guy on the street corner waving a sign that says "The End is Near!" - are talking about is our own individual worlds - our culture, society, lifestyle, family and friends, our governments and the institutions that sustain us.
Can the world truly end? In that sense, I think it can.
And I think that I'm not alone in that belief. I imagine it is a meme floating around in our collective unconscious - the Chicken Little meme - it facilitates the belief that the sky could be falling. Its presence is the reason some people stockpiled food before Y2K (among other things) - it makes the threat of disaster credible.
In the fable, Chicken Little was wrong - the first sign of the end was really just an acorn popping him on the head - but this didn't impact his ability to find some followers. Maybe it was crazy of Goosey Loosey and Drakey Lakey to put their faith in so little evidence, but I don't think it's nuts for us to think that the rug of stability could be pulled out from under our lives.
That meme is there for a reason. It isn't an accident that the theme of utter destruction and devastation pops up throughout myth, legend, history, and fairy tale. Those stories are a record of human experience.
Sometimes the sky really does fall in on us. Sometimes the world (writ on a personal or societal level) ends.
War, earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, droughts. Invasions that displace thousands. Sieges. The fall of Rome. The fall of the Incan Empire. The Dust Bowl. Blankets infected with smallpox. Hurricane Katrina. Tsunamis and typhoons. It happens. It happens all the time. The sky falls. Over and over again, across human history and geography, the sky rains down unceasingly from above.
The United States is (or has been - some count it over) a global superpower for a number of decades. But we aren't the first political entity to have wielded such power - there was a time when all roads led to Rome; there was a time when the sun never set on the English Empire.
We won't be the last.
Hopefully the transition won't feel like the sky is falling.
The thing that I find most fascinating about all of this, though, is that there is a human characteristic that is just as strong - just as prevalent - as the Chicken Little meme. And it is, in some ways, its exact opposite.
It is a trust in sameness - the idea that tomorrow will, most likely, be pretty much like today. That the world won't end because the sun will rise tomorrow almost where it rose today. Of course it will rise. It's already up in Australia.
One of the places that this seems so clear to me is the realm of sustainability. Way back, when the "25 Things About Me" meme was floating around Facebook, I made a list of my own. Number 14: "I believe that everything that is not sustainable will eventually collapse."
I know that this is true. And yet, I keep behaving in ways that do not change our direction. I act as though our culture and society can continue at this pace of consumption without consequence. Even though I know it isn't true.
There isn't a logical reason for this behavior, beyond the truth that change is hard. Especially when it would take all of us changing direction in concert to avoid the iceberg. I don't think we can avoid it (because I'm Chicken Little) but I keep going on as though it won't. I drive my car and buy food at the store that was raised on a different continent. Most of us do.
In my mind, I see a tight rope strung between two poles: "the sky is falling!" and "the sun will come out tomorrow!" Both of which are fairy tales.
I imagine us - as individuals and, collectively, as cultures - on a unicycle balanced on the tight rope. Sometimes we veer closer to the meme of disaster, sometimes to the faith in sameness. Wobbling a little as we move back and forth.
Which is true? Where are we headed? Can we find stability?
It is already tomorrow in Australia. I guess they are that much closer to the day we find out.
"The world can't end today, it's already tomorrow in Australia."
I laughed.
But I'm not convinced.
..........
Okay, I don't actually think the world is going to end today. (I'm less certain about tomorrow).
And, honestly, I don't believe that The World (as in the Earth) is likely to end at all. Is it going to be altered by humans? Yes. Are parts of it already pretty mucked up? Yes. But I think our planet is going to be revolving around the Sun for quite a while yet. We are changing it but, barring massive, all-out nuclear war, I don't think we'll end it.
I believe that by "The World" what we - or the guy on the street corner waving a sign that says "The End is Near!" - are talking about is our own individual worlds - our culture, society, lifestyle, family and friends, our governments and the institutions that sustain us.
Can the world truly end? In that sense, I think it can.
And I think that I'm not alone in that belief. I imagine it is a meme floating around in our collective unconscious - the Chicken Little meme - it facilitates the belief that the sky could be falling. Its presence is the reason some people stockpiled food before Y2K (among other things) - it makes the threat of disaster credible.
In the fable, Chicken Little was wrong - the first sign of the end was really just an acorn popping him on the head - but this didn't impact his ability to find some followers. Maybe it was crazy of Goosey Loosey and Drakey Lakey to put their faith in so little evidence, but I don't think it's nuts for us to think that the rug of stability could be pulled out from under our lives.
That meme is there for a reason. It isn't an accident that the theme of utter destruction and devastation pops up throughout myth, legend, history, and fairy tale. Those stories are a record of human experience.
Sometimes the sky really does fall in on us. Sometimes the world (writ on a personal or societal level) ends.
War, earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, droughts. Invasions that displace thousands. Sieges. The fall of Rome. The fall of the Incan Empire. The Dust Bowl. Blankets infected with smallpox. Hurricane Katrina. Tsunamis and typhoons. It happens. It happens all the time. The sky falls. Over and over again, across human history and geography, the sky rains down unceasingly from above.
The United States is (or has been - some count it over) a global superpower for a number of decades. But we aren't the first political entity to have wielded such power - there was a time when all roads led to Rome; there was a time when the sun never set on the English Empire.
We won't be the last.
Hopefully the transition won't feel like the sky is falling.
The thing that I find most fascinating about all of this, though, is that there is a human characteristic that is just as strong - just as prevalent - as the Chicken Little meme. And it is, in some ways, its exact opposite.
It is a trust in sameness - the idea that tomorrow will, most likely, be pretty much like today. That the world won't end because the sun will rise tomorrow almost where it rose today. Of course it will rise. It's already up in Australia.
One of the places that this seems so clear to me is the realm of sustainability. Way back, when the "25 Things About Me" meme was floating around Facebook, I made a list of my own. Number 14: "I believe that everything that is not sustainable will eventually collapse."
I know that this is true. And yet, I keep behaving in ways that do not change our direction. I act as though our culture and society can continue at this pace of consumption without consequence. Even though I know it isn't true.
There isn't a logical reason for this behavior, beyond the truth that change is hard. Especially when it would take all of us changing direction in concert to avoid the iceberg. I don't think we can avoid it (because I'm Chicken Little) but I keep going on as though it won't. I drive my car and buy food at the store that was raised on a different continent. Most of us do.
In my mind, I see a tight rope strung between two poles: "the sky is falling!" and "the sun will come out tomorrow!" Both of which are fairy tales.
I imagine us - as individuals and, collectively, as cultures - on a unicycle balanced on the tight rope. Sometimes we veer closer to the meme of disaster, sometimes to the faith in sameness. Wobbling a little as we move back and forth.
Which is true? Where are we headed? Can we find stability?
It is already tomorrow in Australia. I guess they are that much closer to the day we find out.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Fixing a Hole
I've been talking a lot about things I intend to do. Which makes sense: most of what I am doing right now is planning.
But there has been some doing as well, and these doings are rich with excitement. Last night, for instance, I darned a sock.
I know... Whoa.
..........
There was a phase of my young adult life during which I always gave my older brother socks for Christmas. There's a back story there that would probably only entertain little sisters who like to tease their big brothers. And who doesn't need socks, right? Darned useful things.
After many Christmases of socks, I was talking to his wife and joked that I should think of something better than socks to give to him. She told me that he actually liked getting socks because socks are useful. And that he didn't understand the underlying teasing. Oh well.
I think that was the year that they sent me some socks in return.
The socks they sent match in pattern but not color; both are a mix of purple, lavender, turquoise and dark blue. They're funky. And nice socks. I wear them a lot, primarily because of their vibrant colors. It's not so much that these are my favorite colors - they aren't. It's the fact that, by virtue of being the only purple/lavender/turquoise/dark blue things in my sock drawer, I can always find the pair of them faster than any other pair of socks I own. It's a mighty helpful attribute.
But one of these socks, the generally more purple of the pair, ended up with a hole in the toe. I'm not the sort of person who tosses out a pair of socks just because of a single hole, but the situation kept getting worse, and I'd find myself in the morning confronting my sock drawer, able to find this one pair, and then scrambling for another simply because of this toe hole. It bummed me out. Not as much as the global economic crisis, of course - but even the small things can seem insurmountable before my first cup of coffee.
A few years ago, when my daughter was younger, I'd just picked her up from the YMCA babysitting room when she took a spill and skinned a big hole in her new pair of tights. After we determined that it was just a flesh wound, we both got a little sad about the hole: for my part, I was bummed about the money that had gone down the tube; she was sad because it had been her new favorite pair. And now, all seemed lost.
Luckily, my mom was visiting at the time. Mom took one look at the hole and said, "Let's darn it." Just as simple as that. And she did. We went home, I pulled out my embroidery thread (I can make an awesome friendship bracelet, FYI) and she made a huge rainbow-colored fix. It was brilliant, and my daughter loved it. She wore those tights for another two years.
It was sort of miraculous, really, the way my mom took an item that appeared to have its functional value diminish to a total loss and, in the space of fifteen minutes, gave it two more years of use life.
You might, correctly, point out that I could have gone back to Target and paid another $7.99 for an identical pair. I couldn't argue with you on that point.
But...
Sigh.
I don't know how to articulate it, really. It's just that I'm trying escape that answer.
So yesterday I went onto YouTube and found a video of someone darning a sock. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4n1jTVyBE0
Then I pulled out the sock, some yarn, and a needle, and darned it.
And, you know what? It's all better now.
It took thirty minutes or so to really get it all figured out and finished, but I don't think that's bad for a first attempt. I'm sure the next one will go more quickly. And I've got plenty that I can do: a cashmere sweater that has some moth holes; more socks; more of my daughter's tights.
I know, I know... We could probably just go to Wall-Mart and replace them, right? It would be simple and inexpensive. (Well, not the cashmere sweater - there's no chance we could replace that).
Going to Wal-Mart and buying more socks is, after all, the apparent answer to sock holes in our current cultural moment.
But I don't want to do that anymore. It is the easy answer, but I don't think it's the right one.
So I darned a sock. And, soon, I'll darn another!
And in fixing those holes, rather than chucking and replacing the whole sock, I'll feel the smug sense of satisfaction that comes with tearing one thread of the web that consumer culture and designed obsolescence have spun around us.
But there has been some doing as well, and these doings are rich with excitement. Last night, for instance, I darned a sock.
I know... Whoa.
..........
There was a phase of my young adult life during which I always gave my older brother socks for Christmas. There's a back story there that would probably only entertain little sisters who like to tease their big brothers. And who doesn't need socks, right? Darned useful things.
After many Christmases of socks, I was talking to his wife and joked that I should think of something better than socks to give to him. She told me that he actually liked getting socks because socks are useful. And that he didn't understand the underlying teasing. Oh well.
I think that was the year that they sent me some socks in return.
The socks they sent match in pattern but not color; both are a mix of purple, lavender, turquoise and dark blue. They're funky. And nice socks. I wear them a lot, primarily because of their vibrant colors. It's not so much that these are my favorite colors - they aren't. It's the fact that, by virtue of being the only purple/lavender/turquoise/dark blue things in my sock drawer, I can always find the pair of them faster than any other pair of socks I own. It's a mighty helpful attribute.
But one of these socks, the generally more purple of the pair, ended up with a hole in the toe. I'm not the sort of person who tosses out a pair of socks just because of a single hole, but the situation kept getting worse, and I'd find myself in the morning confronting my sock drawer, able to find this one pair, and then scrambling for another simply because of this toe hole. It bummed me out. Not as much as the global economic crisis, of course - but even the small things can seem insurmountable before my first cup of coffee.A few years ago, when my daughter was younger, I'd just picked her up from the YMCA babysitting room when she took a spill and skinned a big hole in her new pair of tights. After we determined that it was just a flesh wound, we both got a little sad about the hole: for my part, I was bummed about the money that had gone down the tube; she was sad because it had been her new favorite pair. And now, all seemed lost.
Luckily, my mom was visiting at the time. Mom took one look at the hole and said, "Let's darn it." Just as simple as that. And she did. We went home, I pulled out my embroidery thread (I can make an awesome friendship bracelet, FYI) and she made a huge rainbow-colored fix. It was brilliant, and my daughter loved it. She wore those tights for another two years.
It was sort of miraculous, really, the way my mom took an item that appeared to have its functional value diminish to a total loss and, in the space of fifteen minutes, gave it two more years of use life.
You might, correctly, point out that I could have gone back to Target and paid another $7.99 for an identical pair. I couldn't argue with you on that point.
But...
Sigh.
I don't know how to articulate it, really. It's just that I'm trying escape that answer.
So yesterday I went onto YouTube and found a video of someone darning a sock. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4n1jTVyBE0
Then I pulled out the sock, some yarn, and a needle, and darned it.
And, you know what? It's all better now.
It took thirty minutes or so to really get it all figured out and finished, but I don't think that's bad for a first attempt. I'm sure the next one will go more quickly. And I've got plenty that I can do: a cashmere sweater that has some moth holes; more socks; more of my daughter's tights.I know, I know... We could probably just go to Wall-Mart and replace them, right? It would be simple and inexpensive. (Well, not the cashmere sweater - there's no chance we could replace that).
Going to Wal-Mart and buying more socks is, after all, the apparent answer to sock holes in our current cultural moment.
But I don't want to do that anymore. It is the easy answer, but I don't think it's the right one.
So I darned a sock. And, soon, I'll darn another!
And in fixing those holes, rather than chucking and replacing the whole sock, I'll feel the smug sense of satisfaction that comes with tearing one thread of the web that consumer culture and designed obsolescence have spun around us.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Whether Girl.
There are a lot of people who don't believe in global warming.
I haven't met a lot of people who don't believe in global warming up here in Vermont. People who have lived up here for a long time all recount how much warmer the winters are these days than they were a decade or two ago. The ground doesn't freeze solid like it used to, the spring thaw comes earlier and earlier, fruit trees set buds way too soon and a freeze kills them off, or apple picking comes a month or two early.
There is a lot of talk about this type of change around here.
I think some of it has to do with the fact that they actually have apple trees here. And maple trees. And veggie gardens they've been tending for years. And they view these enterprises as more than a hobby. I have never in my life been surrounded by so many people who are at least tangentially involved in food production. It connects people to their individual environment much more closely than happens when apples are things that come from the store and are purchased without knowing if they were grown in Washington or Argentina.
But, for all that awareness, I don't personally know if what they are seeing is the result of Global Climate Change (writ large) or shifting weather patterns.
Don't get me wrong, I believe our global climate is getting warmer.
I don't think there is a way you can pump as much carbon dioxide into the atmosphere as humans have over the past three centuries and assert that it won't have an impact. But is the fact that March in Vermont now includes some warm, balmy days a result of global warming? I don't know. A sunny day in March just isn't reliable evidence either way.
At some level, it's just a nice day in March.
I believe there is a difference between what can be observed on a day-to-day basis - the things that occur at the level of a state or region and one person's notice - and global, long-term events. I'm not sure that I believe that global warming is something that is visible within the scope of human observation and recollection. You need ice cores and long-term pollen samples to really see what is happening. Not the Farmer's Almanac.
In any event, this post isn't about climate or weather. It's about elections and government. So I should get on to those.
As happens every two years, there was a major election this week. Not as major as the ones that happen every four years. But major. Some people won, some lost, majorities and minorities shifted in state and national legislating bodies and now things will, allegedly, be different.
Maybe they will be different. Maybe not.
When I look at politics, I feel like the stuff that I can observe is often a lot of sound and fury. A lot of yelling and posturing. Filibusters and mud-flinging and accusations.
The kind of stuff that I just tune out. Like the weather.
I'm not saying that I want to tune out our governmental process, or the trajectory of American history. It's just... I have a hard time staying focused when what I see is all the bluster.
And that's the way in which it all reminds me of climate change and weather. I feel like the elections that come and go every two years are like the freak storm events. Oh, you know it's going to snow come winter... But who would have thought that last year Maryland would have had more snow than Vermont? Freaky! Exciting! Something to shout about! Let's make prognostications about how this does or doesn't mean something regarding global climate!
I can't say with any accuracy if those five(?) feet of snow that fell on Silver Spring last year were harbingers of rising temperatures (because higher temperatures means more evaporation and more moisture in the air means more potential for precipitation, and greater temperature differences means that the atmosphere will work more quickly to redistribute the energy which, yes, can mean more snow - even though snow isn't usually equated with warmth).
I also can't say with any authority whether the recent elections will cause any real change in American government. Although I'll bet that there will still be shouting, and rhetoric, and gridlock. You know, the politics. That'll still be there. Just like there will still be tornadoes and blizzards.
And, let me tell you, all of that excites me about as much as a root canal.
So, maybe in the same way that a lot of people don't believe in global warming, I don't know that the evidence indicates that our government is headed towards Hell in a handbasket.
I am sure that American society has changed over the past two-plus centuries. How could it not? If you plucked one of the founding fathers out of his timestream and plopped him down in modern America it would blow his fucking mind.
And then he'd tweet about it! "@const. cong. Tea Party success 50/50 #tinyurl http://blah, blah, blah."
(Yeah. I don't get twitter.)
But we've still got the basic documents of governance to guide us. And we use them! They're great.
It is obvious that American society and culture have changed, as demonstrated by the blown mind of the time-dislocated founding father. But the cultural changes aren't, in and of themselves, a sign that our system of government has really altered. One hundred and fifty years ago, most of the people in America of African ancestry were slaves. A decade later, they were formally given the right to vote. There has been a massive social shift since and it has brought us to a moment where our society has elected a president of African heritage. Whatever your feelings about that president, that is a ton of cultural change. Our society is markedly different than it was before the Civil War.
And not just in that one way.
The process of American government by which Obama was elected, though... Has our governmental system changed substantively over that time?
Like climate change, it isn't something that I personally can get a hold on. I'm smarter than any of the people I've ever seen on Jay Leno's "Jaywalking" segment, but - like a lot of Americans - my hold on the actual facts of government and history is spotty in areas.
And, unlike some bloggers, I'm not going to even pretend like I've cornered the market on facts.
The data is overlain with such a depth of cultural change in all areas - massive shifts in technology, economics, social issues, agriculture, and warfare. There is no control group here. There is no way to just observe the changes in government without all the rest.
Which makes it hard for me to tell if the people telling about our changing government, about how we are in danger of loosing it all, are really on to something. Or not.
People on all sides of the political spectrum make ominous prognostications about the direction our government is heading. Usually it's downward, to either the left or the right.
I have no data with which to debate them. Maybe we are driving it off into the ditch. But sometimes I feel like so much time is spent expending energy in the hoopla - the typhoons of scandal, dust-ups comparing politicians to Nazis, and deluges of mocked-up outrage, that it is hard to get a real intellectual grasp on the health of our governmental climate. Or which direction it might be heading.
A storm blew past us this last Tuesday. I can see the bands on the Woolly Bear caterpillar and prognosticate that another, bigger storm is coming two years from now.
But, honestly, I can't say if the coming storm - or the one we just weathered - is evidence of larger changes or not.
I haven't met a lot of people who don't believe in global warming up here in Vermont. People who have lived up here for a long time all recount how much warmer the winters are these days than they were a decade or two ago. The ground doesn't freeze solid like it used to, the spring thaw comes earlier and earlier, fruit trees set buds way too soon and a freeze kills them off, or apple picking comes a month or two early.
There is a lot of talk about this type of change around here.
I think some of it has to do with the fact that they actually have apple trees here. And maple trees. And veggie gardens they've been tending for years. And they view these enterprises as more than a hobby. I have never in my life been surrounded by so many people who are at least tangentially involved in food production. It connects people to their individual environment much more closely than happens when apples are things that come from the store and are purchased without knowing if they were grown in Washington or Argentina.
But, for all that awareness, I don't personally know if what they are seeing is the result of Global Climate Change (writ large) or shifting weather patterns.
Don't get me wrong, I believe our global climate is getting warmer.
I don't think there is a way you can pump as much carbon dioxide into the atmosphere as humans have over the past three centuries and assert that it won't have an impact. But is the fact that March in Vermont now includes some warm, balmy days a result of global warming? I don't know. A sunny day in March just isn't reliable evidence either way.
At some level, it's just a nice day in March.
I believe there is a difference between what can be observed on a day-to-day basis - the things that occur at the level of a state or region and one person's notice - and global, long-term events. I'm not sure that I believe that global warming is something that is visible within the scope of human observation and recollection. You need ice cores and long-term pollen samples to really see what is happening. Not the Farmer's Almanac.
In any event, this post isn't about climate or weather. It's about elections and government. So I should get on to those.
As happens every two years, there was a major election this week. Not as major as the ones that happen every four years. But major. Some people won, some lost, majorities and minorities shifted in state and national legislating bodies and now things will, allegedly, be different.
Maybe they will be different. Maybe not.
When I look at politics, I feel like the stuff that I can observe is often a lot of sound and fury. A lot of yelling and posturing. Filibusters and mud-flinging and accusations.
The kind of stuff that I just tune out. Like the weather.
I'm not saying that I want to tune out our governmental process, or the trajectory of American history. It's just... I have a hard time staying focused when what I see is all the bluster.
And that's the way in which it all reminds me of climate change and weather. I feel like the elections that come and go every two years are like the freak storm events. Oh, you know it's going to snow come winter... But who would have thought that last year Maryland would have had more snow than Vermont? Freaky! Exciting! Something to shout about! Let's make prognostications about how this does or doesn't mean something regarding global climate!
I can't say with any accuracy if those five(?) feet of snow that fell on Silver Spring last year were harbingers of rising temperatures (because higher temperatures means more evaporation and more moisture in the air means more potential for precipitation, and greater temperature differences means that the atmosphere will work more quickly to redistribute the energy which, yes, can mean more snow - even though snow isn't usually equated with warmth).
I also can't say with any authority whether the recent elections will cause any real change in American government. Although I'll bet that there will still be shouting, and rhetoric, and gridlock. You know, the politics. That'll still be there. Just like there will still be tornadoes and blizzards.
And, let me tell you, all of that excites me about as much as a root canal.
So, maybe in the same way that a lot of people don't believe in global warming, I don't know that the evidence indicates that our government is headed towards Hell in a handbasket.
I am sure that American society has changed over the past two-plus centuries. How could it not? If you plucked one of the founding fathers out of his timestream and plopped him down in modern America it would blow his fucking mind.
And then he'd tweet about it! "@const. cong. Tea Party success 50/50 #tinyurl http://blah, blah, blah."
(Yeah. I don't get twitter.)
But we've still got the basic documents of governance to guide us. And we use them! They're great.
It is obvious that American society and culture have changed, as demonstrated by the blown mind of the time-dislocated founding father. But the cultural changes aren't, in and of themselves, a sign that our system of government has really altered. One hundred and fifty years ago, most of the people in America of African ancestry were slaves. A decade later, they were formally given the right to vote. There has been a massive social shift since and it has brought us to a moment where our society has elected a president of African heritage. Whatever your feelings about that president, that is a ton of cultural change. Our society is markedly different than it was before the Civil War.
And not just in that one way.
The process of American government by which Obama was elected, though... Has our governmental system changed substantively over that time?
Like climate change, it isn't something that I personally can get a hold on. I'm smarter than any of the people I've ever seen on Jay Leno's "Jaywalking" segment, but - like a lot of Americans - my hold on the actual facts of government and history is spotty in areas.
And, unlike some bloggers, I'm not going to even pretend like I've cornered the market on facts.
The data is overlain with such a depth of cultural change in all areas - massive shifts in technology, economics, social issues, agriculture, and warfare. There is no control group here. There is no way to just observe the changes in government without all the rest.
Which makes it hard for me to tell if the people telling about our changing government, about how we are in danger of loosing it all, are really on to something. Or not.
People on all sides of the political spectrum make ominous prognostications about the direction our government is heading. Usually it's downward, to either the left or the right.
I have no data with which to debate them. Maybe we are driving it off into the ditch. But sometimes I feel like so much time is spent expending energy in the hoopla - the typhoons of scandal, dust-ups comparing politicians to Nazis, and deluges of mocked-up outrage, that it is hard to get a real intellectual grasp on the health of our governmental climate. Or which direction it might be heading.
A storm blew past us this last Tuesday. I can see the bands on the Woolly Bear caterpillar and prognosticate that another, bigger storm is coming two years from now.
But, honestly, I can't say if the coming storm - or the one we just weathered - is evidence of larger changes or not.
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