Dominos

 

There are two things that Wayne grumbles about when it comes to gardening, paying for bags of dirt and paying to dump brush. He's not wrong, as it seems to be an endless cycle of buying dirt to grow things that will eventually end up as spring and fall yard cleanup. It's basically an endless money dump. 

Over the years, we have tried to come up with sensible and cheap solutions to buying and dumping and dumping and buying.  

Firstly, we create dirt from food and paper waste in our backyard compost pile. While I don't mind sharing this project with the occasional hungry critter, their consumption does cut into our dirt production. We also have a rather large brush pile which is quite difficult to keep to a reasonable size. I justify this stash of long term composting as being a much needed small animal sanctuary from overhead predators. Cynthia and Mary you may stop chuckling. I always imagine these sensible two, as scratching their heads at my critter invitations. Finally, having learned that Vernon allows fires in backyard firepits without requiring burn permits, Wayne and I spend time pretending to work as we sit and watch sticks burn. While most enjoyable, this is the least productive strategy as the wood ash must then be disposed of. Wayne doesn't like paying to dispose of wood ash any more than he likes paying to dispose of brush.

A volunteer mystery squash has grown where I used compost to transplant a lilac, thus once again proving that this is not an episode of the Victory Garden.

It was by pure serendipity that my dream of relocating our washing machine and dryer to the basement is finally happening. After our camping adventure, we came home to a thumping machine which Wayne promptly set out to repair. In the course of this endeavor, Wayne and I discovered that our new energy star washer had somehow become eighteen years old and the parts we needed are no longer available. The dryer to our set came with the house when we moved in and with Wayne being a self taught expert on dryer repair, we haven't a clue as to it's age. Admittedly it is a bit fussy, with my having to slam the door shut from the bottom right corner to activate the switch which starts the machine. This of course is a small price to pay for dry pants, and it gives me a bit of satisfaction as it announces to all within hearing distance that I am doing laundry. It runs on propane if anyone is interested in having it. 

Bear with me now as I explain that my chosen location for our laundry station is in the basement utility room. Moving it down there frees up the entryway closet to return to being a closet, which in turn frees up the dining room closet. Ahh the possibilities of having free space! The only challenge being that the utility room had somehow over the years, become a storage room. 

Would it help if I told you that while clearing out the entire basement, I found a note from my college years written with red ink in my creative writing notebook?  Dr. Nugent's grad student noted that I had in the first two paragraphs of a story, taken on two different perspectives. She asked with some excitement, if I had meant to do so intentionally. So there we have it Emily and Claire, it is my bonified writing style.

Let me begin again by saying that previous to the basement project, I had begun to fill my rainy days with such constructive activities as watching episodes of Hoarders. 

With my washing machine in the garage, rain in the forecast, my focus on the basement and a new found determination to sort through our belongings, I dropped on Wayne's to do list a stack of letters we had written to each other in the early 80s while he attended Navy boot camp and school in Chicago. Suddenly my episodes of Hoarders became a full season of Love Island as Wayne began to read excerpts to me. Well, we couldn't allow our children to discover our younger selves and we certainly couldn't risk that a squirrel would pick up our mail from the compost, so we began a "to be burned" pile. 

At the risk of going down the path of an episode of "Who Wore it Best?" and by way of explanation of how it is that I came to have so much paper in my basement,  I remind my readers of a certain age, that we used to fill our pockets with dimes so that we could make photo copies at the library while hand writing rough drafts of research papers. Yes, we may be proud members of the card catalog generation; but those who came after us rarely have the need to put thoughts to paper. They research without a trip to the library, they write, submit share and store their work magically. Best of all, when they are finished with it, all they have to do is delete it! On the other hand, while young parents today have energy efficient and water saving appliances, my generation grew up with appliances that could easily be repaired and handed down to us by our parents. In fact, I am certain that Wayne still has a hand held calculator from high school somewhere around here should any of my kids have need of it.

A solar collector field adorns the closed dump and makes for an interesting backdrop for a waste sorting area.

Now given Wayne's dislike of paying to dispose of items he previously purchased and my dislike of filling up landfills with things that could still have a function in the right hands, Wayne and I had our work cut out for us. 

Wayne suggested that we pay a visit to the Swap Shop at WSWMD which thankfully has a new policy of strict drop off only days and strict shopping only days. This seemed safer than a neighborhood yard sale where at I could sell my stuff and at the same time be tempted to buy my neighbors stuff. The only problem with this idea, was that we also had in storage items that were much loved and belonged to our now adult children. First things first, I took pictures and fired off a group message to them. I received the following diplomatic response from their spokesperson and our eldest daughter Kayden:

"Mom and Dad, thank you for blessing us with pets when we were young! I don't think any of us realized how unfeasible it would be to have them during this phase of our lives. It was a magical time."

It wasn't long after, that Wayne and I knowingly nodded to each other and agreed to participate in an episode of Pickers. With the Ford filled front to back, we made our way to Brattleboro only to be precariously stuck behind another early riser with similar ambitions.

As I mentioned before, there are rules at the WSWMD Swap Shop. One of the first rules being, to please try and find another recipient for your items prior to bringing them to the shop. To this end there are many avenues: from online Buy Nothing groups, to online marketplaces, from brick and mortar consignment and charities, to posting a free sign at the curb. Truth be told, there is a bit of a experiential learning curve, where you discover that your kids don't especially want or have space for your things and being a consumer is more often than not, going to cost you twice. Please just make sure that it's not costing the environment too! The hills and woods in Vernon actually have enough kitchen sinks, furniture and car parts at the moment. 

Just close your eyes Sugar Bear and hope that Toy Story is real.

Finally we had arrived at the last stop prior to the landfill.

The lamp that my sister passed on to us made it to the top shelf!

Everything comes back into fashion, but I'm rarely the same size when it does!

Where landlines and grandpa boxes end up.

I too always buy more paint than I can use in one project.

Blessed are those who find good in what others have discarded.

With an eye towards keeping the movie Wall-e in the realm of fiction, I will reiterate an old adage for us who span (dare I say) Boomers to the QVC era.  Indeed, this is for those of us who grew up believing that stuff equates love and that it's our economic duty to be consumers and collectors. I offer to us the now amended adage - All good things must come to an end, so let's find a responsible place for those good things. 

To those of you who are younger, who grew up hearing reduce, reuse and recycle, to those who learned from childhood that pocket phones equate social status, those whom I think of as the transitional generation, who at the tap of a keypad can have everything delivered right to your doorsteps, I offer to you an old margarine commercial slogan- "It's not nice to fool mother nature." Go ahead, I implore you to tap on the link and witness the influence that media had on your parent's generation as you prepare to be on the receiving end of your own group message from them. 

Now, someday if you are lucky enough, you will have young people in your lives who diplomatically explain to you that careful consumption prevents a whole lot of work and waste down the road.

This is a lot of cubic foot of staying cool.

These sets were the latest technology in their day.

Choices were made here

-Norma Manning