It's Not Easy Being Green: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle (Obsessively and Without Apology)

I had no idea that the 3 Rs (reduce, reuse, recycle) could be so controversial. I mean, I thought most people would agree that American consumers, in general, are wasteful creatures. We buy what we don't need, throw away what we don't want, and pay little attention to what actually happens to our waste and filth ("As long as it's not in my backyard . . .").

I grew up in a home where empty cereal boxes, aluminum cans, and plastic milk jugs were left out on the kitchen counter. In fact, my father would dig through the trash can just to make sure we hadn't thrown away anything that he deemed recyclable. When I left home, I discovered that not everyone shared these habits and that some people actually had a moral aversion to these practices.

In college, I met people in my dorm who refused to recycle their aluminum cans. So, being slightly passive aggressive, I would sift through their waste baskets whenever I visited their rooms and pull out all of their soda cans. The recycling chute was only a few feet down the hall. It wasn't a matter of inconvenience. They were simply taking some sort of political stance.

"We're not tree-huggers," these dorm-mates said.

"Neither am I," I replied. Then I paused for a moment and added, "At least, I don't think I am."

Every once in a while, I walked by someone's room and heard, "Hey, Becky, look at where my soda can is going!"

Then a can would sail through the air from the top bunk and land swiftly in the garbage, which I would proceed to retrieve from the basket. I would then dash off and throw it down the recycling chute before they could catch me.

After college, I became a bit more assertive.

"You should recycle that can," I told a teenager once as he threw a Coke can into an already overflowing waste basket.

The kid smirked at me and said, "Yeah, and the tuna I ate yesterday wasn't dolphin safe either."

The most opposition I ever received, however, was from a colleague who chased me into my classroom after I had made a snarky, under-the-breath comment about recycling cardboard boxes instead of throwing them away. This colleague waited until our meeting was over which was at least 30 minutes after my (what was supposed to be a) "joke." I guess I had really touched a nerve.

He spent most of the afternoon pontificating about the horrors of environmentalism. I learned all sorts of (biased, out-of-context) statistics and "facts" that apparently dispel myths that the hippie wacko environmentalists have tried to perpetuate. I heard all about some man who predicted that a landfill, 35 miles on each side, could hold all of America's waste by the year 3000. I heard all about how detrimental recycling is to the environment. I heard all about fast-growth tree farms and how we will never run out of virgin lumber for as long as we live.

"Recycling is just there to make you feel good about yourself," he concluded. "So are you still going to recycle?"

"Nothing's infallible," I said. "I'm still going to do my part to reduce my impact on the environment. Part of that is advocating for responsible recycling practices."

That response didn't satisfy him (translation: he kept talking), but luckily someone else entered the conversation, and the subject was changed . . . quickly.

In my home, discussions about the environment take a very different turn. That's why, after describing this encounter to my husband that evening, I wasn't surprised to hear him exclaim, "But I read in an article that some people actually go by the 4 Rs now! Refuse - as in, refuse plastic bags and other wasteful materials - Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. You could have said that."

"I don't think it would have mattered," I sighed.

I still promote the 3 (or maybe 4) Rs in my classroom regardless.

One student, who was eating during a lunchtime rehearsal in my room, tried to throw away a juice can in the garbage. I blocked his way to the trash can and pointed him toward my recycling bin.

The next week, during the lunchtime rehearsal, he made his way to the waste basket with a sheepish grin and said, "Don't worry, Mrs. Duggan. I don't have anything that can be recycled."

This year, I taught my students Pete Seeger's “It Really Isn’t Garbage,” and we discussed various ways (including but not exclusive to recycling) to take care of the Earth.

One of my second grade students showed up at school with a huge pile of plastic bags the day after our 3 Rs discussion.

The little girl, obviously misinterpreting our Earth Day sing-along, told her classroom teacher, “Mrs. Duggan said she needed them.”

Interesting "Going Green" Tidbit:
A recent article in NEA Today states, "Green schools are easier on natural resources, on student health, and on the taxpayer’s pocketbook. If all new school construction and school renovations went green starting today, energy savings alone would total $20 billion over the next 10 years."

It's Not Easy Being Green: Making a Difference or Making Myself Feel Better?

"I'm starting a compost pile," I said, carrying an old planter filled with vegetable scraps and orange rinds.

As Dan watched me walk by, his brow furrowed in confusion, I added, "And I don't care what you say."

"We don't have a garden," Dan said.

"We have herbs and flowers and houseplants," I countered. "And I might start a garden someday, especially if I have a compost pile."

"That seems a little backward," Dan said with a resigned sigh.

A few evenings later, Dan approached me with an apple core and a plateful of cherry tomatoes.

"Should I compost this?" Dan asked.

"You sound kind of excited about my compost pile now, Mr. We-Don't-Have-a-Garden."

"I mean, do you want me to compost this?" Dan asked again.

And that's just one way I adjusted my wasteful ways and attempted to single-handedly help out the environment.

I suffer from tremendous guilt - a byproduct of being raised a Baptist preacher's kid - in just about every aspect of my life; my impact on the Earth's gradual destruction is no exception. If you were to ask me, I would probably take personal responsibility for the melting of the polar ice caps and the Gulf oil spill.

So I am constantly making minor (but not too inconvenient) lifestyle changes, thinking I am playing a major role in saving the environment. Then I read or hear about someone else making more significant sacrifices than I, and the guilt returns until I've taken on my next pet project.

A few years ago, Dan and I started swapping out our incandescent bulbs for fluorescent even though the aura in my house now resembles a high school gymnasium. (Only 2 percent of American consumers recycle fluorescent lights which results in the release of the dangerous neurotoxin mercury into the atmosphere from U.S. landfills, another issue to consider when making the switch.)

We have been using reusable grocery bags for a while now. Then one day, Dan announced that some study had found that it takes more energy to manufacture a reusable bag than a plastic one.

"Of course," he continued, attempting to appease me as I started to hyperventilate, "if we use our reusable bags for a few decades, it should pay off."

Dan's favorite environmentally/socially conscious phrase is, "We're voting with our dollar," an appropriate comment for my quiet husband who likes to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

So, taking his statement to heart, I turned into an anti-technology zealot who would not allow her poor techie software engineer husband buy an HDTV or a smartphone because of the prolific use of conflict minerals in the electronics industry. Then we bought a camcorder at my request, and my hypocrisy reared its ugly head once again.

"It's for my students' programs," I rationalized.

As an act of contrition, Dan and I spent an entire afternoon researching companies that had signed contracts agreeing to recycle electronics responsibly instead of shipping them overseas to be dangerously disassembled in developing nations.

We have also been buying locally and organically as much as possible (or when convenient). Once we watched Food Inc. and read Mark Bittman's ominous statistic that 18% of greenhouse gases are caused by factory farming, Dan and I began eating (almost but not quite) vegetarian. (Dan admits he is the world's worst vegetarian.)

So the question is, do my seemingly insignificant lifestyle changes make a difference, or do they just make me feel good and possibly (but hopefully not) smug about my contribution to the Earth's posterity? For every positive change I have tried to make, I have encountered naysayers who say my lifestyle choices don't make a difference at all. Some have even gone so far to say that my attempts at environmentally friendly living might actually be detrimental.

But I keep making small, slightly neurotic choices in the hopes that indeed (as eloquently stated in an article at ecology.com), "every large-scale social change begins at the grassroots level with individuals who are willing to change their own behaviors as a model for others."

Still to come:

April 22: I'll talk about my obsessive recycling habits and how those have caused me (mostly good-natured) derision from fellow Idahoans on more than one occasion.

It's Not Easy Being Green: The Introduction

When deciding whether or not to write Earth Day-themed posts for the next couple of weeks, I struggled with the implications that might accompany this task.

“I don’t want people to think I’m a liberal,” I said to my husband, Dan.

Now, I realize I have written this same statement in my blog before. That's because this comes up a lot in discussions with my husband. I live in Idaho, a state plagued by ultraconservative ideals, and many of my family members and friends whom I truly respect adhere to these conservative ideals. So, I go on with my life, a closeted, oppressed Idaho liberal.

Dan responded, as he always does, with: “You are a liberal."

“I just try to do the right thing.”

"Actually, you do the left thing, but the left thing is usually the right thing,” he said.

And that's when I discovered that Dan, too, is a closeted, oppressed Idaho liberal.

It's unfortunate that in deciding whether or not to write about my (possibly futile, occasionally silly) attempts at green/socially conscious living, I feel like I have to consider the fact that I might offend some of my more conservative friends and family members. I mean, shouldn't taking care of the planet just be a given, regardless of political/religious background?

I guess not. I recently heard an anecdote about a missionary who didn't think we should be concerned about taking care of our environment because Armageddon is on its way. (What the . . . ?)

Not every Christian shares this man's opinion. At my church, our minister said one Sunday that Christians should take care of the Earth out of respect for God's creation.

So what I'm saying is that my next two blog postings will focus on my efforts to decrease my so-called carbon footprint (whatever that means) and the ridicule (much of it brought on by my own silly ideas) I have had to endure as a result of my (somewhat) socially conscious living.

Next Week: I'll talk about the little changes I've made in trying to be socially and environmentally conscious and the question I ask myself on a daily basis: am I really making a significant, positive impact on our planet, or am I just doing it to feel good about myself?

April 22: I'll talk about my obsessive recycling habits and how those have caused me (mostly good-natured) derision from fellow Idahoans on more than one occasion.

Spring Break: My Battlestar Galactica Pilgrimage

Dan and I visited Seattle over spring break. One of the main attractions, in case you didn't catch my sci-fi nerd post, was the new Battlestar Galactica exhibit at the EMP/SFM.

"Are you going to dress up like the characters when you go to the museum?" a second grade teacher asked after I had explained my spring break plans to the entire lunch crowd in the faculty room.

"No, but only because my husband's too shy. If he weren't so reserved, we probably would have had a Star Wars wedding. I would have drawn the line at walking down the aisle in double buns and a metal bikini."

We left early on a Saturday morning, even though we only planned to drive a couple of hours to Baker City, Oregon that day.

"Becky, I already locked that door," Dan called to me from the driver's seat after I had made him stop the car so that I could double check all of the locks.

"Your neuroses are cute," Dan said when I finally let him back out of the garage. "I just have to keep reminding myself of that."

And we were off.

DAY 1

Baker City, Oregon

We visited the Oregon Trail Museum I had found in our AAA tour book while we waited for the hotel check-in time.

We stayed at the Geiser Grand Hotel, a historic turn-of-the-century hotel. It is rumored to be haunted, a fact that Dan failed to mention until after checking us in. That night, the hotel was conducting a special Ghost Hunters evening from 9 p.m.-2 a.m. The "expedition" cost $50 a person which lessened the appeal for my husband (fortunately).

I told Dan that we were going to attempt an offline vacation, meaning limited cell phone use, no Facebook, no e-mails, no computer games, etc. I allowed Dan to bring a laptop so that we could watch movies or T.V. shows on Hulu and so that we could look up driving directions or make dinner reservations.

By the time I checked my phone messages that night, my dad had already texted me a few times and left a voice mail message.

Then I caught Dan on Facebook.

"I'm not communicating with anyone," he said, "just looking."

"You never communicate with anyone. How's this any different?"

That was the extent of our offline vacation attempt.

Day 2

Leavenworth, Washington

That morning, we ate at a local diner in Baker City where the customers, servers, and cooks all seemed to know each other. One proud grandfather carried a bright-eyed, smiling baby, sprawled out tummy first, from table to table.

"Say 'hi,'" the grandfather instructed the baby as he approached each table.

Eventually, the older gentleman and baby made their way over to our table and paused for a moment, trying to decide what to do; we were obviously the only non-locals in the restaurant.

"Say 'hi' to them too!"

After a brief stop and cider tasting in Cashmere, we arrived in Leavenworth, a Washington ski town created in the image of a Bavarian Village.

"It's hard for the locals to go to the Leavenworth," the cider mill clerk in Cashmere had said. "But you've got to go there if you're a tourist."

We stayed at the Icicle Village Inn and Resort that night and ate at Andreas Keller, a Bavarian-inspired restaurant with live accordion music.

"Why am I always so hungry, especially after just sitting in the car for hours?" I asked my husband as I wolfed down a platter of Käsespätzle.

"You just talk so much that you burn off a ton of energy," was his reply.

Day 3

Seattle, Washington

The next morning, we spent some time in Leavenworth strolling through the shops, but pretty soon, we got Seattle-antsy and hit the road for the Emerald City.

As we approached the city, we realized we hadn't quite timed our drive around rush-hour traffic. Dan glanced longingly at the carpool lane.

"We need to pick up a hitchhiker," he suggested.

I didn't look up from my book but simply shook my head and mouthed "no."

That evening, after dining at Place Pigalle, we spent some time browsing in the Westlake Center across from our hotel. Dan stopped abruptly in front of one of the store displays.

"I should wear that," he pointed to a blue t-shirt that read, "Relax, I'm hilarious."

Day 4

Seattle, Washington

After breakfast at Lowell's Cafe (our favorite Seattle breakfast spot), Dan and I toured the historic underground at Pioneer Square. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the Capitol Hill District and at Volunteer Park. Dan convinced me to climb an uber-number of steps to the top of an old water tower, and I, in turn, convinced him to spend the rest of our time in a greenhouse at the edge of the park. I love plants and flowers and vegetable gardens, and Dan - well - Dan loves me.

We saw Billy Elliot at the Paramount that night.

"Are you going to the theater tonight?" our server at Il Fornaio asked, apparently reading our minds.

When we said yes, he did a little tap dance in front of the table - "But that's all you get from me," he said and walked away.

Day 5

Seattle, Washington

I woke up the next morning, melancholy because I knew we would have to leave the next day.

"We haven't even done what we came here to do," Dan said.

I stood outside the bathroom door still dressed in my pajamas, toothbrush hanging out of my mouth.

"Battlestar Galactica!" I exclaimed in a throaty stage whisper.

"So get ready, and we can actually go."

We made it to the Seattle Center without much mishap. Dan did try to turn the wrong way down a one-way street. ("I would have figured it out eventually." "Yeah, with all the cars racing toward you.")

At the BSG exhibit, I overheard one of the employees (who must have also been a fan) trying to explain the differences between humans and Cylons to a couple of middle-aged women who had never seen the show.

"And the actor who played Gaius Baltar is on a new Syfy channel show called Eureka. And he made a comment in one of the episodes about seeing a woman in a slinky red dress. That was so funny. It was, of course, a reference to Battlestar Galactica . . ."

"That's nice," said the women politely.

The pathetic thing was that Dan and I knew the exact Eureka episode and BSG inside joke to which the nerdy, sci-fi fan/employee was referring.

After adequate time admiring the displays of costumes (yes, the slinky red dress was there), Vipers, Centurions, and Raiders, we spent the rest of the day hanging out in bookstores and record shops until dinner at Chandlers Crab House on Lake Union.

Day 6

The Road Home

On our way out of Seattle, I played the ________ or ________ game, neglecting my duties of navigating Dan's way out of town.

"Seattle or New York?" "Silver Platters or Easy Street Records?" "Billy Elliot or American Idiot?" "Capitol Hill or Greenwich Village?"

"Wait! You need to take I-90 East!" I yelled, interrupting the fun travel activity I had just created.

"I thought we stayed on I-5 longer," Dan said as he swerved across the forked interstate road.

"Your butt's I-5."

Dan sighed, "I have such an intelligent wife."