Looking for the light
Will my bag of kitchen scraps help?
We’re fast approaching the darkest day of the year, both literally and metaphorically.
I’m having a hard time remaining positive when an unelected gajillionaire has bought the American presidency for pocket change (to him). And even before the start of the new administration, this arrogant South African man-child has begun ordering Congress around, demanding they shelve a bipartisan funding agreement and shut down the government. Right before Christmas.
No skin off his back. He’s got his money to keep himself warm. [Latest evaluation: $464 Billion. If he were to give you $1 million every day, it would take 1,271 years for you to have $464 billion. That is obscene.]
Meanwhile Trump is doing his vengeful best to silence and torment every politician or journalist who has spoken out against him with costly lawsuits. When you are selling the country down the river to the highest or most flattering bidder, you do not want the public to know what you’re up to. You must convince the gullible that the media can’t be trusted, except those outlets that proclaim he walks on water and shits ice cream.
[In a “60-Minutes” interview after the 2016 election, Lesley Stahl asked him why he keeps attacking the press when he’s already won. “You know why I do it?” he said. “ I do it to discredit and demean you all, so that when you write negative stories about me no one will believe you.”]
These are indeed the darkest days.
So what’s an old lady with zero political power to do?
She takes out her kitchen scraps.
If you live in NW Portland, perhaps you’ve seen me. I’m the weird woman who scuttles about the neighborhood Tuesday nights after dark with a bag of kitchen scraps. Rain or shine, I’m looking for the closest green bin in which to toss it before the compost-collecting truck comes by early Wednesday morning. (Condo and apartment buildings in Portland don’t get compost collection services.) As a former gardener, I’ve been composting plant matter for more than fifty years and can’t let lack of a bin stop me now.
I also carefully sort other recylables and can sometimes be found clawing through our giant bins to retrieve the styrofoam and other non-recyclable crap that willfully clueless residents toss. Yes, there are large signs on the bins, showing in words and pictures what goes and what must not.
Why bother? Does any of this matter? We are now learning that the petrochemical industry sold us a bill of goods when they told us we could recycle our plastic. Most of it is unusable and just ends up in the landfill or getting shipped to pollute the land, air and water of third world countries.
Still, I can’t give up. I console myself for the inconvenience, knowing that my kitchen scraps will be returned as a cup or two of nourishing mulch for our gardens and city parks.
Throwing the starfish
You may remember the story of the little girl who walked on the beach, picking up stranded starfish and throwing them one by one back into the sea. When asked by a passerby, “Why are you doing this?” she explains that the sun will dry them up and they can’t get themselves back into the sea on their own. The man says, “But there are thousands of them! What difference does it make?”
She picks up another starfish and tosses it after the first one. “It makes a difference to this one.”
The man is taken aback by her answer, and eventually joins her in tossing starfish. Together they can save twice as many starfish*.
I tell you this story, because maybe you will join me in doing one small thing—composting your kitchen scraps, writing your congress person, tying yourself to the railroad tracks or a Supreme Court Justice’s bench…
How I’m cheering myself in these dark times
The essays and stories of E.B. White. Jeremy Anderberg, who writes at Read More Books, suggests having a reading goal for the new year—not pages or number of books read, but a focus. Like a particular time period, genre, or author. In my case I am digging back into the treasure trove of my writing hero’s books. I just finished Stuart Little, which believe it or not I’d never read… what a laugh-out-loud delight!
Meditations for Mortals, by Oliver Burkeman. A very zen recipe for sanity. One short chapter a day for 28 days. I’ve already given away five copies.
Making donations to causes I believe in, specifically to non-profits that will help us get through these dark days.
Looking for beauty anywhere and everywhere. What do you do?
PUT YOURSELF IN THE WAY OF BEAUTY
Likin’ the lichen:
My grandkids at 8 & 10 are already great jokers (same ones with the black gloves for hair at Thanksgiving). My son bought a special orange at the farmers market, and to set it apart from the ones already in the fruit bowl, he drew a smiley face on it. The next morning he came down to this:
Thank you.
I just ordered Meditations for Mortals. I have been meeting for coffee with FB friends I have never met and friends I haven't seen in ages. Are you game? My approach is to fill up with light—good people, great conversation, and meaningful connections—to keep the darkness from taking me over. Thanks for sharing 😊