Waste

Waste bothers me. Period. I gets under my skin. It just sits in land fills possibly polluting.

I like to dumpster dive. I can't tell you where because it's highly frowned upon. At this one particular non-profit's dumpster, I find a lot of blankets. Some smell; some are ripped. It's disgusting to see all the waste because I know they are not ready to be garbage.

I take the blankets and other goods and give them new life. Blankets are washed and line dried; it make take a few days of airing out to get them fresh. I fix them up, usually a few new stitches and seems. I give them to a woman who works with low income people. She hands them out to those in need.

Other goods are washed as well. I usually keep them until I meet someone who needs what I have.  Here are some things I have rescued from dumpsters:

blankets (obviously)
double stroller
cat house
animal dishes
infant life jacket
cups
plates
dog jackets for the winter
Barbie clothes
a step stool
tables
Dutch shoes
paints
stationary
pictures in nice frames
clothes that have never been worn
baby swings that work
random toys
pots/pans


Many nonprofits have so much that they just toss what they have. Or they sell clothes to factories by the pound to use as rags. While I don't want to discourage people from giving to nonprofits, I hate seeing waste. Maybe your old things can put be on Craigslist or set in the front yard with a free sign. Try getting in touch with social services; they might know people who can't afford to shop at second hand stores.  If you exhaust all other options, maybe it is time to donate to a nonprofit.  Just think twice before you toss things out because not everyone can live upriver.

Random Ranting from a Lunatic Mind (Much of Which is Parenthetical)

It's that time of year that stores fill with packs of pencils, pens, and paper. Whole isles are dedicated to school supples instead of the usual  half the right side of one isle. It's easy to get caught up in all the sales.  It's not just school supplies, it's new clothes too. And new back packs even though there is nothing wrong with the ones we already have. And new shoes too. It's fun to shop. (Developmental psychologist have made it that way.)

It's that time of year when cashiers, librarians, and the odd person with whom you strike up a conversation at the grocery store while trying to select the best apples feel the need to ask, "So are ya ready fer school to start?"  They expect parents to answer with an enthusiastic "Yes!" and for children to answer with an exasperated  moan or sigh accompanied by an eye roll with the optional "No."  But not everyone sends their children to school. Some of us like our children and enjoy spending time with them. (And before someone gets on their high horse to say, "Well check your privilege. Not everyone can afford to homeschool. You are  clearly part of the white upper middle class,"  let me say that I am poor. We dance with poverty line.)

For those of us who chose home education or some other form of non-5-days-a-week-schooling, September has a different feeling. For me, it's harvest time. I spend a lot of time standing over a canner while listening to the hum of a dehydrator if the sound of Five Finger Death Punch and Wardruna doesn't overshadow it. My fingers develop calluses from handling hot jars. My feet ache from standing in the kitchen. My skin actually looks good because it's constantly being steamed. My nails are still stained from dirt. (The dirt stain usually lasts until October for me.)  For others, school never ends and lessons are completely year round.

For those who don't send their kids to school, it can seem odd that everyone is talking about school supply lists (Can you believe what they want us to spend on a calculator?), which teachers retired (It's about time Mr. Gordon is done; he was just riding the time clock), how long Mrs. Smith will be out of teaching while she recovers from her new baby, the new dress code the school implemented (no leggings or sweat pants, no spaghetti strap shirts even for elementary school kids,  nothing that can be seen as offensive, no scarves, no body jewelry, etc.).   The idea of compulsory school seems odd to many people. As parents, we protect our children in numerous ways: helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards for riding bikes, roller blading, and skating; 5 point car seats until they weigh 65 lbs.; scissors that can't even cut; bed rails for a 5 year old even though the bed is only 6 inches off the floor and the bed is a queen size. But for some reason, most people just send their beloved offspring to school without a thought. Do you know the person who is in charge of your child for 6 hours a day? If you do, do you like them? What about the bus driver? Do you know them? Do you like them? If the school district hadn't decided that these people are capable of taking care of your child/ren, would you want your child/ren around them?

My family is riddled with teachers, guidance councilors, and other school administration. To be honest, I wouldn't want my kids around some them if I wasn't there. My uncle had planned to be a gym teacher. While prepping for his student teaching, he found a job that would pay him more than teaching would. By then my cousin had been born so he took the better paying job. (I don't blame him.) Honestly, he is homophobic and a little racist. He doesn't understand that not everyone likes sports. (This concept boggles his mind.)  My aunt is a teacher. I find it hard to hold a conversation with her. The answers she gives are short and designed to end the conversation. I also find her very disrespectful to her parents. These aren't people with whom I want my children to spend time especially without me; if they are to spend time with them, I want to be there to explain what is and is not acceptable.

But for many people, these thoughts never occur. They simply get a letter saying who their teacher is for the year. The children may have heard rumors about their teacher and groan, or hopefully they get excited because they got the teacher that has a couch and radio in their room. (My mind: Where is that couch from? Is it their old couch? Did they have sex on it? Did their kids pee on it?)

My children, W and E, and have been in a charter school that only meets once a week since kindergarten. The school is small. The day is short (9-3). Parents are welcome and encouraged to attend a parents meeting where we discuss curriculum, food, teaching styles, food, outside of school activities, food, methods of discipline, and food.

W has a reading disability that is holding him back in other subjects.  I have done everything (and more) the school has told me to do to help him.  Nothing has worked.

 I had to make a decision: he would go to school. Because the school is public and because of the rules, all students at the charter school are allowed to take 2 classes a semester at the regular middle and high school. I talked to the administration at both the charter school and the regular school.  The agreement was made he would attend school for the first three hours (classes/periods) of the day: language arts, homeroom (this one doesn't count as a class he takes), and Read 180 (a class for the lowest level readers). I picked his language arts teacher, Mrs. M, who would also be his teacher for Read 180. My bonus daughter, A, had her a few years earlier. I had her  20 years earlier.  I requested a math teacher for his homeroom teacher. (His math is hard, and some times I can't help him with it.) I bought him school supplies. We went to open house and met his teachers. I knew his homeroom teacher, Mrs. W; she had been his tumbling coach 7 years earlier. I explained he would only be there for the first 3 "hours."  Both teachers were understanding.

So I had accepted he needed more help than I could provide and because of this he would go to building with people I don't know and be subjected to whatever they tell him: carbs are good for you, Columbus discovered America, and Abraham Lincoln was opposed to slavery.  I had a health teacher in 9th grade who told us sex was only for procreation. Yes, at a public school. (Apparently, she didn't know about oxytocin releases and how good they are for you regardless of wanting a baby or not.)  That was bad enough, but then I read an article that was about Monsanto reps going to schools to talk about what a great company they work for and the dangers of sharing seeds.  Most people wouldn't think twice about these things.

I do. A lot.

I have met a few people who feel all homeschoolers are religious nuts who want to shelter their children from the evils of the world and to teach that the is a 6,000 year old disc covered by a dome. That's not me. I am more likely to correct someone when they say that neanderthals are our direct ancestors. (They are not; they are more like the cousins of our ancestors with whom we bred on occasion but preferred to kill off.)

I want my kids to know how to grow, cook, and prepare food for themselves, to use a saw, level, and screw driver/gun, and to change oil and a tire.  I want them to know there is nothing wrong with doing these things for themselves. You don't need to pay someone to do every minute chore for you. I want them to know it's ok to not follow the crowd because crowds are mobs, and mobs are dangerous and generally stupid.

How do I do this when they are surrounded by other people who are taught that hive mind is a good thing? How do I do this when he will be subject to adults who rely on peer pressure to get things done?  How do I teach them to value their goals and accomplishments when in order to get good grades they need to have the answers and goals the teachers want?  How the fuck do parents deal with this for 180 days a year for 13 years?

New Washing Machine

For a year, we had a washing machine that refused to spin.  I needed a quick fix and didn't have several hundred dollars on hand with which to purchase a new washer so I bought an antique, or maybe just vintage, wringer.  Because I didn't buy the wash board, since the washing machine still agitated, we had nothing to which to attached it. But our laundry would finally be wrung out! 

At first, it was a 3 person job.  One person, held it steady on top of a saw horse. Another person fed the laundry in. (This was an art form to be learned.) The last person caught the laundry.  This only lasted a week until J did his laundry and found it tedious.  He built a stand for the wringer.

The first 5 months of this, I honestly wasn't bothered it. But after that, it got old. Our basement is cold making it less than pleasant (and let's be honest: I live in the First World so when I say something is less than pleasant, there are many people in the world who would love to be in my place).  Wringers also doesn't get out as much water as the spin cycle on a modern washing machine which led to almost every thing had to go through the dryer in the late fall, winter, and early spring. I also broke many zippers, buttons, clasps, and hooks.  On the plus side, my sewing skills did improve.

On Mother's Day, I was waiting for the liquor store in the grocery store to open. I took a look "For Sale" section of the bulletin board.  There was an apartment sized washer for sale for $125. I called and went to look at it. I asked a friend to pick it up in her vehicle. (I could have picked it up, but I would have had to remove the car seats, some things I had no interest in doing.)  J hooked it up and now I no longer have to wring out my laundry. 

Next on the agenda is an oven that keeps constant temperature!

Wrapping Paper Update

So my grand plans to save potato chip bags and use them as wrapping paper failed. I tried wrapping a present this weekend, and the tape wouldn't stick. So back to the drawing board.

Coffee

The mere mention of coffee is some circles ignites serious emotions. It's not difficult to find memes about how important coffee is to some people.

Some love it to a discomforting level.




Some come up with whimsical ways of expressing their addiction to it.




Some have a cute way of showing the variety of options from which to choose.





Until a few years ago, I wasn't a coffee drinker.  I would have the occasional late to combat a head ache that ways days old and not subsiding, but that was it.  I couldn't understand (and honestly, still don't)  all those people who  couldn't perform a menial task because they "hadn't had their coffee yet."  It felt like the last addiction that was socially acceptable.

(I don't have many smokers in my group, and those that do smoke, hide it.  Gone are the days of when smoking while in the presence of other people's children or standing in line is acceptable.  As the daughter of two heavy smokers, I greatly appreciate the lack of social acceptance of smoking.)

Anywho, a few summers ago, I watched my friend's 3 children for the summer. I also had my own 3 children to watch.  As if that wasn't enough, some times a friend would spend the day with us. It was a lot of kids: a 12yo girl, a 9yo boy, an 8yo boy, a 6 yo boy, a 6yo girl, and a 6mo old baby with another 9yo boy on occasion.

It was a lot, and I was tired. So I started drinking coffee.

I had known for some time that coffee is generally grown in warmer, humid regions that were previously rainforests by workers who are paid pennies if paid at all.  It bothered me. Why should someone work that hard for so little money and have their land raped so I could have a cup of fucking coffee?

So I went online and found some coffee is "Rainforest Alliance Certified" and  "Habitat-friendly Certified Organic Shade Grown."  What could the problem possibly be? Any guesses? Yes, it is expensive. So I drank it less.  A 12oz. bag lasted 3 months.

J, however, still prefers the coffee from the store: standard coffee with a flavor of Highlander Grog.  It is whole bean and more expensive than grabbing a can of whatever is sold in 3lb. cans but less expensive than my coffee. He also drinks it every day.  Sometimes though he doesn't take it all to work, but this never happens on the day I want coffee.

I noticed he would just dump the rest out the day next morning while he made fresh coffee for the day.  I don't care for waste so I thought about it. I started pouring the leftovers into a quart jar and putting in the fridge.  On my canning day, I would can it and have coffee for the emergencies when we are out of coffee and the snow it too deep to run to town or when the power is out. We have a gas stove so we can still heat it up on the stove.

That made me happy for awhile. Then I had another idea. After Jon leaves for work, I reuse his grounds.  I make half the amount he does. Once the coffee is made from the grounds for a second time, I pour the coffee through the machine so that the grounds are used thrice. I still have to add a ton of cream (not creamer, why the hell add all those ingredients to perfect cream?) and sugar because that is how I drink my coffee, but it taste the same.

After that, I put the grounds a sealable bag in the fridge.  Once it is full, I spread them out on a cookie sheet and let them dry.  Once dry, I rebag and freeze them.  In the spring, I mulch the blueberries with them.

I still buy the highly certified coffee. I use for when I make coffee first, Jon goes camping, or I make coffee after I drank all the other coffee; the last situation usually only happens when I have company. So that is how I deal with drinking something I know isn't the greatest for the planet.

A Confession of Guilt

I do many things in order "to save the environment." Many things. I have been known to dig through friends' garbage, remove things to bring home and recycle, feed to my critters, or compost.  I will rip up six pack rings that are in the garbage. I reuse resealable: the kind you flat out buy and the kind that shredded cheese comes in.  I carry (or I make my son carry) grey water from the kitchen sink to the compost to keep it wet and to hopefully extend the life of our septic tank. Much to my dismay there is one thing I cannot seem to give up: I drive a lot. Constantly.

A few years ago, I was without a car for two weeks. I rode my tryke everywhere.  Trips to the store were less frequent.  If I forgot to get sour cream for taco night, we had tacos sans sour cream. (I had hoped I would lose weight, but sadly I gained two pounds.)  I felt great about driving less.

The down side was I bought every things at the regular store because riding to the thrift store was a bit too much.  I couldn't make it to most of the farms I like to patronize.   One friend did give me a ride to a farm to get eggs so I bought 4 dozen.  Like a good poor person, she refused to take gas money so I bought her a stroller at a rummage sale the next week. Ahh, bartering.

Lately, I have been driving a lot. I have been taking the kids to museum or the aquarium, to see animals at various places that the Zoomobile visits, to farms to buy meat, to the skating rink an hour away.

There is a new thing to add to the list: the grocery store.  Yes, I have one within walking distance.  There is a smaller one slightly farther, and of course we have a Wal-Mart in town. I don't shop at Wal-Mart.  The smaller store is not open on Sundays when I do my main shopping.  They also don't have produce which is the bulk of what I buy on a weekly trip.

The main store at which I shop has been bought out by another company.  They upped their minimum wage to $9.50 and gave more people a week of vacation.   Sounds great, doesn't it?  But they also increased the prices of many things I buy.  They made some men trim their beards, and I am very pro-beard. They got rid of  overtime.  Everyone has to wear an ear piece now.  I have sympathy for people having something in their ear all day. It's annoying and distracting to have other voices in your ear all day.  I also get an ear ache when I use one.

A friend of mine has also noticed this.  She has similar feeling to me. We decided to drive 2 hours one way to a great store, Woodman's, once a month.  Their minimum wage is $11.50 or $12.50.  They also offer benefits. Their prices are great.  Their selection is fabulous.  They even have a wide selection of organic produce. We will also be going to Aldi when we take the kids skating once a month.

It's a lot of driving.  We carpool which helps, but I still feel guilty. But I suppose that is the price to pay to live in an area surrounded by lakes that provide fresh fish and wild rice as well as a home to many birds that my hubby hunts, woods that provide venison, small game and plenty of space to forage, as well as small family farms that produce pastured meats, fresh fruit, vegetables, honey, maple syrup, and hand made arts.

Darn it!

I am not picky about many things. But one of the things of which I am a snob is socks.  Yes, socks.

I was not always this way. I used to plain, white, cotton wear socks until there was little more than a few threads.  My toes stuck out at the top while my heals stuck out too. It honestly just didn't bother me.

Then I met J.  It was summer so socks were not a concern. As winter took over, my feet were always cold, with or without holes in my socks. J just looked at me and shook his head. He told me to wear wool socks. Wool socks? I had never seen them at Wal-Mart or Target. Where would I find said socks? He seemed baffled that I had never owned wool socks. I was shocked by his bafflement. Seriously, where are these wool socks?  In eighteen years, I had neither owned a pair nor known where to purchase them.

At the time J's mother, S, owned a store that sold high-end outdoor clothing.  For Christmas, I got wool socks. (And long underwear that were polyester which I found out is very important in choosing "longies" as I call them now.)  I was hooked! Now all my generic cotton socks seemed like little more than anemic impersonations of socks.

Fast forward a few years, and all those wool socks have holes in them just like my cotton socks.  J had always brought them to S who some how fixed them.  It was time to learn, and it proved to be easier than I thought.

1. Start with a sock with a hole in it.

2. Get a darning mushroom. If you are like most people living in 2016, you don't have one. That's ok; you can use many things. I use a mason jar. You just need something cylindrical that won't lose its shape when you apply pressure. You will also need yarn and a darning (tapestry) needle.

3. Insert the mushroom (or whatever you chose) into the sock turned inside out. 

                                       

4. Thread the needle and start to weave it into the sock. You will want to start next to the hole, not in the middle of it. 

5. For the next step, I used a different color for visual ease. Do they same thing in the opposite direction, weaving the yarn into the yarn already there. 

                                    

6. When I am done with that, I like to stitch a circle around your work area. Once I get back to the starting spot, I weave in and out of the stitches. 

                                       

7. Turn the sock the correct way and enjoy!