I long to burrow
beneath the soil to watch
a sweet carrot grow.
Time Out
For the first time this year it has felt like winter and I'm taking a break, except from Haiku Fridays, to read books, poetry, take pictures, go to bed early and reevaluate what's important.
Local food is still important. The farmers' markets have been stormy and I wouldn't miss them for anything. I ate a mandarinkuat for the first time and it was inauguration day 2009 good! If you can find one don't hesitate to make it yours.
Reducing plastic continues to occupy my mind too. I've cancelled the daily delivery of the paper and opted for Sunday only. One plastic bag a week instead of six. And no more plastic produce bags! Nada, zip, zero. Three months ago I wouldn't have believed it possible.
The worm bin was a year old and they eat more than ever and still make noise. I love them.
The cute guy and I ate at a new restaurant where the waiter, unasked, told the table where the fish came from, "local". And how it was caught, "single line". I nearly kissed his hand and wanted everyone there to be our new best friends.
And every where I look I see simple beauty and great waste but I need a time out from the words. I need to clean my house, go for a walk, plant seeds, talk to people, bake bread.
It will be spring with more words soon enough.
In the meantime, be well and know about the fish you eat.
Haiku Friday
a pink speckled bowl
of plain brown rice cools as slow -
ly as it once grew
Haiku Friday
Slicing open squash
I found spouted seeds, green stems;
leaves wanting to grow.
Garbage Bags
The cute guy and I have been talking about the garbage. The first time I brought up the conversation though, he left the room.
Garbage is his domain; all of which I'm appreciative of however cliche' our roles can be. I simply brought up that, perhaps, maybe, with a little sugar, we could not put the trash in plastic bags. Ah jeez, you would have thought I'd asked him to put it in his socks before it went to landfill.
My idea was to get a small container to empty into the outside trash can. It wouldn't have to be big; we generate about a plastic grocery bag of landfill a week and we collect the plastic bags from co-workers. We put our recycling in reusable canvas bags. Not using a plastic bag for garbage didn't seem like a big deal.
Two days later the cute guy called me at work to say I was right. We shouldn't use plastic. He'd finally realized I wasn't asking him to wrap the trash in newspaper or his socks. But he explained he didn't want to toss the garbage loose into the outside can. "It has to be in something."
"Why?" I asked.
"Otherwise it will be a mess for Lance." (Our legendary garbage man.)
I fell in love with the cute guy all over again. But I didn't give up on getting rid of the plastic.
Yesterday the answer came to me in a bag of tortilla chips he walked to the store to buy on a crave. The empty bag fit perfectly in the cupboard garbage rack. And tonight I realized the bread bags I've saved would also be a good fit. We don't need to buy a new container or collect other people's garbage; just look inside our own.
And we all lived happily ever after.
Yellow Eggs
My egg lady has been discovered. No longer can I walk up, choose between small, medium or jumbo, hear a bit of farm fodder, pay and move on. Now I've got to wait in line.
"These eggs are worth waiting for," a man told the woman in line behind him. "They're real yellow." He emphasized yellow as if it were a word of romance, letting its ending linger. He gazed faraway. Remembering.
Get a grip, I thought. It's a damn egg. But his comment has had me take a second look. My scrambled eggs are yellow. Canary yellow. I guess I've been taking them for granted.
Lunch Time
I'm not much of a cook really. Salt is my favorite spice. But in spite of my limited skills I've been making a pot of Sunday beans that the cute guy and I scuffle over the next number of days for the remains. I start with Rancho Gordo vaquero or pinto beans, saute onions, throw in garlic, a nub of ginger. This week I added celery and fennel, dried thyme from the yard. Then frozen slow roasted tomatillos and jalapenos from the summer stash. Co-workers two step around me in the kitchen at noon with my hot bowl of leftovers. "Smells good," they say.
The trumpet player praises the vegetarian soup in her hand from down the street. "Do you reuse that container?" I ask. "That's like something you would actually buy to store food in." We've worked together a long time and I practically grab it from her. She points to the stamp approving microwave use on the clear lid. The plastic bowl is heavy, black. Nearly designer.
"Why don't you wash it and use it the next time." She looks at me sideways and leaves.
Another co-worker comes in.
"Are you going to throw that away?" I blurt out. It's a huge clear plastic salad container with a lid from the organic place two blocks away. A dinosaur could fit in the damn thing.
"Recycle," she says.
"I used to take them back for my salad the next time," I offer. She returns to her office with container in hand. I keep eating my beans.
Which were originally wrapped in plastic too. And like the soup and salad containers likely did, went straight into the landfill after a single use.
There's got to be a better way to do this grown up fast city lunch thing. And preferably it doesn't involve me sharing my beans. At least not every day.
The Wombat
Remember the Story of Stuff? Brilliant in it's simplicity. The Wombat is another simple, but laugh out loud, let's get our ass in gear message. And it's the length of a commercial.
The Wombat has been around for a few years but this is the first I've seen it. Are there other internet short clips that you've found? You know, the kind that make you laugh but poke your heart or make you want to stop buying more stuff, to consider plastic or eat seasonally. What else have I missed, beside the Wombat?