RECYCLING VIRGIN

Far more revealing than any neurosis, past addiction, genetic flaw or latent Republicanism has got to be this: I am a recycling virgin. It is 2008, I am 30-something with two small children who generate scads of daily, if not hourly waste, and I am just now in the game.
Image: Malene Thyssen

Is it "too late" to start recycling? I asked and immobilized myself with this question for years. Generally, I avoid anything I'm not in on on the ground floor and/or cannot be perfect at immediately. Is learning to recycle now like "taking up smoking"--an activity in which no one over the age of 23 could possibly engage?
Until recently, a guest's Oregon microbrewery, bottle-in-hand-query, "Do you recycle?" was met with either:

A) "Don't worry about it." (shrug and turn back to trussing, basting, or caramelizing something). Theoretically said guest could be impressed that I don't want to trouble her, and might assume I would go through my own trash later to separate the wheat from the chaff.
OR
B) The Deadly Eyeroll (aka, the stoic refusal to explain any of my more puzzling behaviors). As the hostess, I will say that I never had anyone challenge me onmy recycling habits. As the writer, I will say that I've rarely had anyone challenge me on The Deadly Eyeroll. Period.

I have mentioned that something began to change in me when The Pink Wolf was diagnosed with breast cancer. A desire to reduce the amount of plastic we use, recycle what we must, eat a few more vegetables, be a bit more cognizant. (note: NOWHERE did I say "Become a Vegetarian" or heaven-forbid Vegan).

And this is when I first encountered the venomous, wily specimen known as THE ECO-ELITIST.

Now, two of my dearest friends are, to put it mildly "recycling enthusiasts." I have seen both of these women offer to take the recycling for an entire dining room full of mothers and toddlers at Chipotle when the restaurant had no means. They have witnessed over four years of errant Diet Dr. Pepper cans hitting the inside rim of my stainless step-can, and as far as I know, there were never any plans for an Intervention.

In short, they are both good friends and neither belongs to this frightening camp known as "The Eco-Elitists"--a perplexing band of creatures, seemingly partial to moms' groups and the public eye--who appear to forget we all crawled before we walked to the recycling bin, and who can make a person such as myself, who is trying to know better and do better, feel very, very small. About the size of a plastic molecule. "You can't recycle the CAPS" someone said blisteringly of my pitiful yet impressive milk cap collection. (Eff you; I'll make pins and sell them on Etsy!)
I've said it before and I've said it again: change is downright exhausting--mostly for the people around you. Isn't it funny the way doing something positive, with the best intentions (the path to hell, silly!) can cause a veritable allergic reaction in those around you?

And once you've been initiated into the American Anti-Plastics League (The AAPL or "Apple"), which is spearheaded by these people, you must consider every piece of plastic a deadly threat to yourself and your children. Serve goldfish crackers in some of those mod little IKEA plastic bowls at your next playdate? You will be reviled as if you were serving a snack-mix of crack cocaine, crushed glass, lead paint chips and ball-bearings.

I hate the fact that I feel like a poseur with my new SIGG bottle, having tossed every plastic bottle in my fridge, looking upon them now with an unease reserved for black bubos spores. I would happily use glass, but I am a chronic klutz (day 2, and the $20 SIGG rolled out of my van while I wrestled somebody into a carseat, squashed ugly but perfectly usable on the sidewalk). I am embarrassed that I don't know "how" to recycle, which barcodes mean organic produce, the difference between PVCs, VCRs and PDA.

I am trying to think yogically about this. I believe that sincere intent is what's important-- as evidenced by years of entering contests without winning. I should not care what anyone else thinks. If the dreaded ego is mortally concerned with others' perceptions (of course, the ego is also responsible for 99% of world-humor, namely "people falling down"), then the real issue for me to consider is: how is this affecting me, and by extension, my kids?

My kids are fairly excited about recycling (because kids like change and also love hoarding and sorting things) as evidenced by Edward Scissorhands, who takes all of the paper out of the bin, cuts with wild abandon and leaves it on the pantry floor 18 times a day.

In the Relationship department, green is the color of stress. My big campaign has gone over like a sack of wet mice:

"I don't understand why you have to grab this from me--I mean, I'm going to take this trash out in a second anyway."

"My God, couldn't you at LEAST flatten it?"

When you live with an uber-conservative Eeyore McMolehill, who lives by such mind-boggling, unfunny & uncharming beliefs as: "Global Warming is propaganda,"Radon is a hoax," and "We can't recycle~it'll draw bugs!" this is destined to be one of those wars. Another composting dialect in the subterranean language of relationships.

Perhaps he feels like I changed the rules on him?

He thinks it's exhausting? HA! Here's a smattering of my brain-transcript: "Dammit, I can't remember--is it that 2,3 and 4 in the little triangle are okay, but not 1 and 7? What happened to 6? You mean I can't microwave these things because it leaches out..oogy stuff? OH CRAP: What about all those years of lonely Healthy Choice entrees and red wine out of an aptly named Solo cup? What about the yards of mac and cheese (shame on me--not even ANNIE'S organic mac and cheese!) my children have consumed, which was then stored in plastic--possibly reheated and then served AGAIN in plastic? Sweet Crap, What about Zoo Pals 'silverware?' Hey--what about those black Madonna bracelets I encircled every limb with in 1984? What about Swatch watches? Glo-light necklaces? What about the Flight pants I wore in 7th grade?"

And now a completely pedestrian confession: More than the Eco-Elitist's scorn, the household chaos or the fact that I just despise change, what depresses me most about this new dearth of plastics is the added fear of plastics to my worry plate. Because I actually love plastic spoons. And really thick, clear plastic forks. I do not like the black utensils (too flimsy), and I can't stand it when a plastic fork tapers too steeply toward the tines like a foot with hammertoes, or when (as is often the case) the tines are too pointy, like little wombat teeth. (Obviously, by extension, I can't abide by sporks.) photo by Xatufan

I recently experienced something called SPUDWARE. Eco-friendly, made from 80% potato starch & 20% soy oil, it nicely fits my criterion for heft-of-picnicware but it isn't quite the same. The truth is I adore deli take-out containers, the clear plastic ones which resemble terrariums filled with sesame noodles, lemony marinated mushrooms, fat balls of fresh-mozzarella--pretty much any delicious content which likely leaches the toxins right out of a container which doesn't qualify at the Recycling Center anyway.

Well, increasingly there are non-plastic options, I think. I DO like those funny little wooden spoon-sticks which come with Italian Ices...until they become soggy and splintery and your tongue feels weirdly dead--but that's another entry. They're probably made from godforsaken pressure-treated lumber, anyway.

I'm going to go cook something in cast iron now, and try not to fall down. But when I do, I can't fault the kids for laughing.