ROOM FOR A PONY

Exploring what life could be like if we weren't buried in clutter, burdened with too many possessions, and surrounded by chaos.

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Where to get rid of Styrofoam blocks in Portland

June 13th, 2013 · Disposability, Packaging, Polystyrene, Recycling, Trash Disposal

I have to admit I’ve been feeling somewhat holy about going to the trouble of schlepping our huge Styrofoam blocks out to one of the only two places in Portland that will take them. I feel less holy after what I’ve just found out. …. which I’ll tell you about in a minute.

But first I want to emphasize that we still have to schlep — because presently there is no better option besides the One and Only better option, which is that this horrible stuff must not be manufactured in the first place. Meanwhile, this is the only acceptable thing we can do with it. Take it to Total Reclaim on Columbia Boulevard, or to the Foster Road location of another company, called Recology.

But the sobering part is: then what? What do they do with it? Well…  I suspected this but I’d never followed it through this far. Are you ready?

After they densify it, by melting it and squashing it down so that it takes up less space on the ships, they send it to places such as China and Japan where it’s used to make cheaper plastic materials such as: toothbrush handles, picture frames, and…. pen casings.

Pen casings? eeek! Toothbrush handles? Picture frames? How many of us have those items in our homes?

“Go away, Styrofoam. Take a slow boat to China.”

So when we buy those items, we’re actually buying styrofoam? I feel stuck in an impossible loop.

And when we eventually take those items to the recycling center, aren’t we then actually throwing the evil polystyrene into the rigid plastics recycling bins?

And what happens to it from there? Metro Recycling sends their rigid plastics to China. Is that bad? I suppose as long as we have this hideous stuff, we might as well get as many uses out of it as possible. Eventually it will end up in the landfills, but at least we’ll have used it as many times as possible.

But it looks like as the items are recycled into multiple incarnations and the plastics are combined with other plastics, the content of the cheaper plastics becomes less and less known. So how do they decide what recycling number to put on the end product? and is that important?

This is getting really complicated. My brain hurts. I have to stop now.

Next time I’ll address this nagging question: If China can “recycle” styrofoam, isn’t that a good thing? And, the dumber and more obvious question: Why can’t we do that here in the U.S.?

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Why we don’t want to be inhaling or swallowing Styrofoam

June 10th, 2013 · brain theory, Consumer Issues, Disposability, Trash Disposal

It’s not rocket surgery.

All you have to do is watch the surface of any hot liquid in one of those Styrofoam cups to see it forming a slick on your drink.

When every cell in my body goes “Ew!” I pay attention. I may not be a scientist, but my body knows a few things on its own. It was right about smoking. Even in my infancy I knew that was bad. (“Suck this stinky grey substance into my lungs? um… no thank you.”) I don’t know what was wrong with everybody else, but I did not need to wait for the Surgeon General to publicly declare it harmful in 1964.

And yet I see all these people smoking — friends, relatives — and guess what? They’re smart people too! At least as smart as me, and in some cases smarter. So I remain completely stumped about why everyone didn’t have the same reaction to smoking that I did.

But it’s the same thing with Styrofoam. How can anyone with a set of eyeballs and taste buds see and smell and sip a hot drink in a Styrofoam cup and proceed to drink it?

You want to know what’s known about it so far? You can read about it here. And I think we can safely assume that we don’t know the extent of it yet.

But think about it: So many perplexing illnesses in the world, and we’re ok with ingesting styrofoam? So many people suffering, from both mental and physical illnesses, and we have no idea why?

Really? Can we please start with the obvious toxins? Do we need the scientists to study something as icky as styrofoam for a few more decades before we believe that this is just BAD? Or can we use our own brains RIGHT NOW and JUST SAY NO TO STYROFOAM!?

Next post I’ll tell you where you can dispose of it — which makes us feel a little better, but of course, as I discussed in my last post, it’s not going anywhere. We need to stop it at its source. More on that soon.

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We’re all eating Styrofoam

June 6th, 2013 · Consumer Issues, Decluttering, Disposability, Packaging, Polystyrene

See the big blocks of Styrofoam cluttering up your garage or basement. Does the thought of taking a big bite out of one of them repulse you? Surprise! — we’re already essentially doing that.

Styrofoam, a brand name for polystyrene, takes 500 years to decompose. When we throw it away, it doesn’t break down in the sense of rotting. As far as our little lifetimes are concerned, all it does is break apart, into smaller and smaller chunks, then smaller and smaller particles, until it becomes a fine dust. Being extremely light, it’s carried by air into the rivers and oceans, where it mingles with the plankton and looks exactly like it. The fish can’t tell it apart, or if they can, there’s no way they can ingest one and not the other. So if you eat fish, you’re eating styrofoam.

But if you think you can avoid it by avoiding fish (which contain the crucial Omega 3 fats, among other nutrients), you’re going to have to quit all that breathing too, since it floats right on into your body when you inhale. Why wouldn’t it? It’s lighter than all those pollens and dust mites and all the other junk we inhale all the time. We can’t filter it out of our respiratory systems any better than the fish can.

And you’re going to have to give up drinking anything at church coffee hour. Every single Sunday, churches all over the nation hurl billions of styrofoam cups into the trash after serving up bad coffee and fake orange juice in those awful cups. Not to pick on churches, but come on, how holy is that? Of course, far outrunning churches in styrofoam use, we have all the business meetings that happen all day, every day, where beverages are slurped. Schools use polystyrene cups and plates daily in their lunch rooms. And of course take-out food services use them constantly.

Portland (my love) is one of more than a hundred U.S. cities that have banned styrofoam food packaging in restaurants. In other words, polystyrene containers can no longer be used for take-out food. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still being churned into the landfills by the businesses, schools, grocery stores and churches.

Anybody need a mission? Feeling stumped about how to “make a difference”? It’s a project that could lead to greatness (not yours, silly, the environment’s). Make it small or make it big. If it feels too huge to take on your whole city, start with whatever organization or institution you belong to, and STOP THE STYROFOAM!

For those of you secretly wondering “but why can’t I eat styrofoam?” I’ll explain that in my next post. And in my next next post, I’ll tell you where to take those big stupid blocks filling up your garage. I hope you haven’t put them in the trash already.

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Grandma: not so crazy after all

May 29th, 2013 · Excess of Possessions, Hoarding, Re-using, The Packrat Mind

In the Depression years, our grandparents saw need all around them, and probably found constant satisfaction in having saved just the right thing. In the last few years of my grandmother’s life, we sent for the items she pined for in the storage unit in New Mexico so that she could at last be reunited with them. Rather than list here what exactly was in that storage unit, I will summarize by saying that very little of it would’ve been useful in any kind of disaster, economic or otherwise.

At least not to me, or most other people. But she would’ve found a use for things like squashed sandals from the thirties and petrified vinyl purses. In an emergency, she could’ve woven them all together with the balls of twine to make a raft that would’ve gotten the whole family across the ocean in the nick of time.

But there was another reason my grandmother saved stuff — for the same reason I do — she had an aversion to waste. Just like I do, she had a problem with the notion of tossing a plastic fork into the trash after using it for ninety seconds. Or knowing it was going to get thrown away if you left it on the airplane food tray, even unused and still in its cellophane wrapper.

When we were little, we loved the stuff she’d bring us. Then as as we got older and snarkier, we kind of made fun of her. Now, though, I understand.

I’m sorry, Grandma. We were idiots. You had the right idea.

Raphael Dunne Laflin
1900 — 1992

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Great Depression still blamed for Depressing Amounts of Junk

May 23rd, 2013 · Uncategorized

Raise your hand if your grandparents’ hoardish habits were excused by the fact that “They grew up during the Depression, honey. They had to save every piece of string and scrap of cloth.”

That was the reason given for why Grandma traveled with enough supplies to outfit a refugee camp, why she cleaned the plane out of all the plastic flatware and extra packs of salt and pepper and peanuts, harvested the soaps from hotel bathrooms, and for several decades rented a storage unit somewhere in far away New Mexico whose contents she reminisced about in dreamy tones.

Recently a friend and I were commiserating about having too much junk. Now this is a guy in his late thirties. But he actually said these words: “See, my grandparents lived through the Depression and as a result I have this tendency to hold on to things.”

Uh. No. I am so sorry. We may no longer blame the Great Depression for our packrat habits.

Maybe our parents could blame their parents, who could in turn blame the Depression. But even our parents don’t get to use that as an excuse for the junk they acquired themselves.

Fun Fact: The Great Depression of the 1930s is not the reason we have too much junk.

Let us look inward.

 

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Where to take clothes too old and worn to give away

May 16th, 2013 · Cloth, Clothing & Apparel, Re-using

Yes, of course we give our slightly used clothes to the thrift shops, but MY old clothes have had a very thorough life.

I only wear clothes that I love, and after many mendings they are eventually pronounced dead by a certain person who is really tired of looking at them, and mending them. And then I can’t even give them to the used clothing stores because surprise, no one wants clothes this raggedy. So I’ve had to throw them away! which feels like I’m throwing a dear friend into the trash. I can’t bear it. So Lindi has to do that for me too, at some tactfully chosen moment when I’m not watching.

But wait! I’ve just found out there’s a better fate for them! They can be made into fabulously useful RAGS! Then they can truly be re-used, down to their last gasping thread.

The place to take them here in Portland is the Pioneer Wiping Cloth Company at 10707 N.Lombard Street.

As to what they will accept: anything that can be made into a rag.  Apply this test question: Is the item made of an absorbent fabric?

They don’t want your spandex. Or your underwear. Or your silk or nylon anything. And no socks.

They take cotton and knits, like T-shirts and sweats, in addition to sheets and towels and blankets. Knowledge of the exact fiber content isn’t necessary. They can tell by feel whether it would work as a rag or not.

Good to know that if I have to give up my clothes, at least they can serve my country as a batch of rags before their final demise.

Exhibit A: This shirt has been on its deathbed for months. All its edges are shredded. But I’m in love. I’m not giving it up without a funeral.

 

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What about the problem of too many clothes?

May 10th, 2013 · brain theory, Consumer Issues

Uh oh. I may have just come up against the limitations of my decluttering blog. I actually don’t have this problem, so I don’t know if I can be of any help in this area.

I could tell you that I keep my wardrobe under control by being frugal and organized, and claim to be all zen and everything like that, but in truth, the only reason I am successful in the area of wardrobe control is because the clothing lobe of my brain is really small. (The pen and pencil lobes are much, much larger.) [see Fig.A]

Fig. A: Note the limited size of the lobe designated to apparel.

I have discovered that once I reach a certain critical mass of clothing items, they will sit there unworn while I forget I have them. Any garment that doesn’t fit into my field of vision at a single glance will not be making its way onto my body.

Trying to figure out what to wear is the most stressful part of my day. I want to look reasonably good, but I don’t want to deal with it. Therefore I own just a few items of apparel that all sort of go together that I mix and match.

Unfortunately, I am unequipped to advise on how to fight back the urge to shop. My entering a clothing store is an event that can only come about with the assistance of a team of coaches — one to drive me to the location, one to open the door, one to push me inside, a couple more to run around and fetch me things and bring them to me to try on in the awful little room of mirrors. If I didn’t have Lindi and some nieces, I’d be down to a pair of mismatched pajamas with holes by now.

Oh well. At least here’s one area of life in which I’m not a greedy pig.

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Spontaneous Post-Carnage Shrines: Dead flowers and wet teddy bears

May 2nd, 2013 · Decluttering, Disposability

I’ve become so obsessed with the waste stream that even in the midst of tragedies, my mind goes to to the garbage issues. By now the explosion debris at the Boston Marathon has been cleaned up, but I always wonder: what about these mountainous offerings of flowers and stuffed animals that accumulate in the outpouring of grief and support? People need to do something. And yet…. then what? 

Eventually it has to be dismantled. I wonder who gets stuck with the odious task of taking away all the mementoes? What becomes of them all? And who wants to be the unpopular person deciding when it’s time?

Do it too soon and the mourners feel slighted; too late, and it morphs into a pile of soggy rubbish. Which choice looks more disrespectful? Clearing it away, or leaving an increasingly ugly pile of weather-ruined stuffed animals among the rotting remains of dead flowers?

If it were just the flowers, they could be separated from their non-recyclable  cellophane wrappings and composted. But the stuffed animals, made up of synthetic materials, will have to be taken to the landfill, along with all the crinkly cellophane.

I don’t have a good answer for this stuffed animal tradition which has sprung up in recent times. I think we’re stuck with it unless it fades out over the years and people find another way. What are you going to do, put up a sign at a shrine site saying “no teddy bears”?Even posting about this is probably going to get me nominated for the Scrooge award.

PS: If anyone sees anything on this, do send me a link via the comment box.

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Aftermath of Tragedy: explosions, shootings, storms, & floods

April 24th, 2013 · Decluttering, Philosophy

It seemed inappropriate to write about clutter with that whole bombing thing going on in Boston. I was watching and re-watching the videos just like everyone else. Maybe not just like everyone else — I’m not sure. After a point, I made myself stop.

I think for a while we do it because we just can’t believe it, and we’re trying to digest what happened. But if we keep on endlessly, now we’re getting morbid. Like picking at a scab. Stop it! Time to do something constructive — how about getting rid of some of the detritus that has exploded out of our junky society and landed in our houses?

Having junk around makes me feel like I’m in a rubber raft trying to escape from a flood but I can’t get anywhere because I’m trapped on all sides by the flotsam. Nor can I help anyone else — both raft and self are rendered useless.

It so happens that I came down with a bad cold right when the Boston explosions happened. After the initial two or three days of comatose behavior, I started on small decluttering projects for short spurts of time till I wore out. Then I’d crash for a nap, and wake up and start again. It was the only thing I felt capable of doing. I may have gotten more clearing done in this last week than I have in the past year. Maybe my subconscious self was getting rid of the illness inside my body by ejecting everything in sight.  Lindi said, “You should get sick more often.”

I’m almost well now, and I love these clear surfaces! Away with piles screaming at me about undone tasks! (I’ll try to stick a before and after picture in later on. gotta go.)

Back to the bombing aftermath: A question always nags me after these things, and I wonder if I’m alone. At the risk of being too verbose, I’ll address it in my next post.

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Persistent Pen Envy

April 5th, 2013 · Collecting, Excess of Possessions

Are you sick of the pen topic? I know I am. I still want them, though. New pens, vintage pens, other people’s pens…… but I’m not giving in these days. I just drool inwardly and keep moving.

I’m looking for a good pen therapist. because as I’m getting rid of all these pens — which has been really hard — I’m realizing that i have a serious phobia about being caught without a pen. Suppose someone commits a heinous crime and jumps into a car and I’m standing right there and I don’t have anything to jot down the license plate number with and they get away scot-free? My one shot at heroism, vanished. The only use I can ever hope to be in such a crisis, indeed one of the few things I’ve been good for in the world — moving a pen across paper — all for naught.

Recently there was an “incident” at work — there was yelling and thumping and I knew it was coming from Mr. Problem, who’d just walked by. I feared it was a crisis-in-progress. I tried to dial 911 but couldn’t remember the number. Or how to operate a telephone. Had there been a license plate number to write down, I know I could’ve executed that task. For that, I’m prepared.

You’ve seen the pens I accumulated in my home. I also carry many pens with me wherever I go. I am way beyond pocket protector. At work, where one’s space and accoutrements are often perceived as communal, I’ve resorted to a tool belt.

See? There’s no way I would’ve failed to grab a pen, had there been something to write down. And in the back panel of that tool belt are stashed multiple blank cards — the backs off of small tablets that we plow through at work, that I tuck in there for just such an occasion.

In case you’re wondering how the above scenario played out, it turned out that calling 911 was not the thing to do anyway.

“We never call 911 for him,” said my boss.

Apparently he’s just business as usual. We save 911 for the seriously scary. Who knew? He sounded scary to me.

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