I have neighbors who, although they are lovely people, often do something that makes me angry and fearful for the future of the global village and of the planet. They drive to the bus stop (or somewhere else in the neighborhood that they could walk to easily) and then sit there with their motors running, even in lovely, temperate weather.
Some other people will drive up to the bus stop, get out of the car to chat and leave it running. Now that really doesn't make sense to me. What is the point? It's not keeping you warm (or cool), you're not listening to the radio, so why? The other day another neighbor came over to drop something off. She left her car running in my driveway while she came to the door. We inevitably started talking about this and that, so her quick visit turned into several minutes while her empty car chugged away. As she left my porch, she bemoaned mildly the cost of gasoline. Sometimes, I want to just bang my head against the wall. Or hers.
Now, granted, I'm one of those people -- I turn off my car at long stop lights. I'm so worried about global warming that I hang my clothes out to dry until the temperature drops below freezing and I can't feel my fingers by the time I've taken them down. I sometimes take three times as long to do the grocery shopping because I insist on riding my bike to the store (when I have the time and the weather is half-decent -- I'm not a martyr). And my house is always cold because I won't turn the heat pump up over 65 in the winter (wear thermal underwear! put on a sweater! my children hear when they complain). I'm sure my neighbors think I'm just as much of an oddball for doing all those things, and, let's face it, they're not wrong.
But is it really asking too much for drivers to turn off an idling car for a few minutes while they wait for children to emerge from school? Is it a hardship to wear a warm jacket in the car so you don't have to keep it running for the heat? It's not impossible to turn off a car on a beautiful spring day when it's a perfect 68 degrees, is it? The exact numbers vary, but experts say that, if your car is off for ten to thirty seconds before you turn it back on, you've come out ahead in gas consumption. Thirty seconds, people!
Even if you don't believe the science about global warming, this kind of thing hits you in your wallet. Our electric bills went down significantly this fall when I started drying all our clothes outside. Given a choice between joining a karate school three minutes away versus 15 minutes away, we joined the closer one. Each decision is small, but they add up to an ability to live very comfortably on one income.
We don't deprive ourselves, either. We just prioritize, and we indulge the things that are important to us and jettison the stuff that isn't. Being mindful about other areas of our life has given us the wherewithal to pursue the things that are important to us, and that makes the small sacrifices worthwhile.
Showing posts with label tree-hugging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tree-hugging. Show all posts
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Monday, February 05, 2007
The Zen of the Clothesline
I air-dry my clothes. All of them, when weather permits. As it gets colder, my fingers get number as I hang them out and take them down, but I find myself enjoying the laundry much more. Odd, isn't it?
When I use the sun and wind to dry the clothes, I have to be much more aware of the weather over the next few days (should I do two loads today while it's sunny, or will there be more sunny days this week?). I have to slow down and think about the individual garments I hang. My clothesline is a double one, a single line run through a pulley at each end to double the hanging space. If I hang the clothes correctly, I get each side of the line at a different level, so I don't have one shirt behind another, or a towel blocking the sun from the pants behind it. I have to calculate the weight and the length of the clothes on each half of the line to keep items from being blocked, but also to keep heavier things from dragging on the ground. It is a thoughtful, mindful process, which makes me feel a connection to the earth and its processes, and to the power of the sun and wind. I am lucky that I am able to air-dry clothes, and that for me it is indeed a choice.
The sun in my backyard disappears shortly after noon, so I have to start the laundry day early and be mindful of where the sun is by what time. The position of the sun in the backyard changes with the seasons, too, so I'm more aware of the passage of time, not just on a small daily scale, but on the scale of seasons and years. If it's a windy day, sunlight is less essential to the drying process, though either one helps. As the seasons change, my schedule must change with it. It is calming to let go of that schedule, to let the sun determine when the laundry gets done.
Now that the temperature has fallen below freezing, I am back to using my dryer. The laundry once again feels like a burden, a chore that must be done. Perhaps I am only responding to the novelty of the clothesline, but I had a shorter one before this and never tired of it. Now that I can dry the clothes anytime, I feel like a robot, feeding the clothes into one machine, then another, in the endless, unchanging process of keeping five people in clean clothes. Interestingly, my children never ran out of underwear in the warmer weather, when I reliably did one load of laundry a day, but now too often I get frantic requests for things that haven't yet been washed. The process has lost its magic, and I feel much less connected with the earth. I look forward to the spring for so many reasons, but my purple clothesline beckons, and I can't wait to use it again.
When I use the sun and wind to dry the clothes, I have to be much more aware of the weather over the next few days (should I do two loads today while it's sunny, or will there be more sunny days this week?). I have to slow down and think about the individual garments I hang. My clothesline is a double one, a single line run through a pulley at each end to double the hanging space. If I hang the clothes correctly, I get each side of the line at a different level, so I don't have one shirt behind another, or a towel blocking the sun from the pants behind it. I have to calculate the weight and the length of the clothes on each half of the line to keep items from being blocked, but also to keep heavier things from dragging on the ground. It is a thoughtful, mindful process, which makes me feel a connection to the earth and its processes, and to the power of the sun and wind. I am lucky that I am able to air-dry clothes, and that for me it is indeed a choice.
The sun in my backyard disappears shortly after noon, so I have to start the laundry day early and be mindful of where the sun is by what time. The position of the sun in the backyard changes with the seasons, too, so I'm more aware of the passage of time, not just on a small daily scale, but on the scale of seasons and years. If it's a windy day, sunlight is less essential to the drying process, though either one helps. As the seasons change, my schedule must change with it. It is calming to let go of that schedule, to let the sun determine when the laundry gets done.
Now that the temperature has fallen below freezing, I am back to using my dryer. The laundry once again feels like a burden, a chore that must be done. Perhaps I am only responding to the novelty of the clothesline, but I had a shorter one before this and never tired of it. Now that I can dry the clothes anytime, I feel like a robot, feeding the clothes into one machine, then another, in the endless, unchanging process of keeping five people in clean clothes. Interestingly, my children never ran out of underwear in the warmer weather, when I reliably did one load of laundry a day, but now too often I get frantic requests for things that haven't yet been washed. The process has lost its magic, and I feel much less connected with the earth. I look forward to the spring for so many reasons, but my purple clothesline beckons, and I can't wait to use it again.
Bad mom, or strong children?
Today we had a high of about 15 degrees Fahrenheit. The day started at about 4 degrees and didn't rise much from there. The school district had a two-hour delay this morning -- all of the area school districts did.
So the afternoon came, and it was time for my two daughters to come home on the bus. Our bus stop is a fair distance from our house -- around the corner and up a hill. I was home trying futilely to get a fire to burn in our wood stove so the house would be warm when they got home. I contemplated taking the car to the bus stop and giving them a ride home. I'm generally opposed to that, what with global warming and gasoline prices; I seldom drive to the bus stop unless we have to leave directly from there to make an appointment. But today, I considered making an exception.
But then I thought about the woman, some 15-20 years my senior, talking this morning at the bus stop about how she had to walk to school in weather like this (uphill and barefoot, no doubt -- but no, she wasn't being mean-spirited about it). And I wondered, does it do my daughters a disservice to coddle them like that? They were warmly dressed, with gloves and brand-new winter coats. And the eldest will soon be in middle school, which means she needs some modicum of independence and self-reliance. So, I decided to stay home and let them walk home, for better or for worse. It was slightly warmer than it had been in the morning, anyway.
Then they arrive home, and I find out that my neighbor, who lives two doors from the bus stop, gave them a ride home. Now, not only have they not learned self-reliance, but my neighbor thinks I'm a putz. This neighbor is a lovely person, and she's been through a lot in her life and she has a lot of strength as a result. But she is a self-described "smother-mother", who keeps her children quite close. Her children are a couple of years younger than mine, and she lost one -- her first -- in infancy, so it's understandable, to a point. But I do think my kids need to have a certain level of independence at this age, and I think the general tendency is to overprotect because of horror stories we hear about in the local news.
I don't want to succumb to the temptation to keep my children wrapped in cotton wool. I had an overprotective mother, and I paid a price for that. I once heard parenting described as a series of decisions. When the child is young, the parent makes all of the decisions. As the child matures, the decision-making is passed from parent to child gradually, until, at adulthood, the child makes them all. Right now, I think walking home from the bus stop is something they can handle. They know about stranger danger, they take karate classes, and, in any case, our neighborhood is safe as far as I know. If I can't handle them walking home from the bus stop, how will I handle them going out with friends in late middle school, or, God help me, dating?
Am I letting too much go, too soon? I don't think so. Ultimately, I have to follow my gut, and my gut says they can handle it. The rules have been spelled out clearly: come straight home (or call from the neighbors if they plan to stay), take the short cut through the neighbor's yard, don't talk to anyone they don't know, stay together and look out for each other. They're good, obedient but smart kids who won't abuse the privilege, and they like walking home on their own.
I'll change my policy next year, when my eldest starts middle school and comes home an hour earlier, and my little boy starts first grade. I'll be at the elementary bus stop every day, and I'll meet the middle school bus, too, at least at first. There may come a time when my eldest can meet the younger ones at the bus while I wait at home, but it will only happen when my gut says it can happen.
So the afternoon came, and it was time for my two daughters to come home on the bus. Our bus stop is a fair distance from our house -- around the corner and up a hill. I was home trying futilely to get a fire to burn in our wood stove so the house would be warm when they got home. I contemplated taking the car to the bus stop and giving them a ride home. I'm generally opposed to that, what with global warming and gasoline prices; I seldom drive to the bus stop unless we have to leave directly from there to make an appointment. But today, I considered making an exception.
But then I thought about the woman, some 15-20 years my senior, talking this morning at the bus stop about how she had to walk to school in weather like this (uphill and barefoot, no doubt -- but no, she wasn't being mean-spirited about it). And I wondered, does it do my daughters a disservice to coddle them like that? They were warmly dressed, with gloves and brand-new winter coats. And the eldest will soon be in middle school, which means she needs some modicum of independence and self-reliance. So, I decided to stay home and let them walk home, for better or for worse. It was slightly warmer than it had been in the morning, anyway.
Then they arrive home, and I find out that my neighbor, who lives two doors from the bus stop, gave them a ride home. Now, not only have they not learned self-reliance, but my neighbor thinks I'm a putz. This neighbor is a lovely person, and she's been through a lot in her life and she has a lot of strength as a result. But she is a self-described "smother-mother", who keeps her children quite close. Her children are a couple of years younger than mine, and she lost one -- her first -- in infancy, so it's understandable, to a point. But I do think my kids need to have a certain level of independence at this age, and I think the general tendency is to overprotect because of horror stories we hear about in the local news.
I don't want to succumb to the temptation to keep my children wrapped in cotton wool. I had an overprotective mother, and I paid a price for that. I once heard parenting described as a series of decisions. When the child is young, the parent makes all of the decisions. As the child matures, the decision-making is passed from parent to child gradually, until, at adulthood, the child makes them all. Right now, I think walking home from the bus stop is something they can handle. They know about stranger danger, they take karate classes, and, in any case, our neighborhood is safe as far as I know. If I can't handle them walking home from the bus stop, how will I handle them going out with friends in late middle school, or, God help me, dating?
Am I letting too much go, too soon? I don't think so. Ultimately, I have to follow my gut, and my gut says they can handle it. The rules have been spelled out clearly: come straight home (or call from the neighbors if they plan to stay), take the short cut through the neighbor's yard, don't talk to anyone they don't know, stay together and look out for each other. They're good, obedient but smart kids who won't abuse the privilege, and they like walking home on their own.
I'll change my policy next year, when my eldest starts middle school and comes home an hour earlier, and my little boy starts first grade. I'll be at the elementary bus stop every day, and I'll meet the middle school bus, too, at least at first. There may come a time when my eldest can meet the younger ones at the bus while I wait at home, but it will only happen when my gut says it can happen.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Irony for the Day
I was hanging my laundry out on the line this morning when it occurred to me that this was an extremely ironic activity for November.
I hang my laundry out in order to save energy, which helps fight global warming. But why is it that I can still do this in Pennsylvania in November? Global warming.
Hmmmm.
I hang my laundry out in order to save energy, which helps fight global warming. But why is it that I can still do this in Pennsylvania in November? Global warming.
Hmmmm.
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