Sunday, April 11, 2010

Inconspicuous Consumption


When it comes to trash and recycling, I’ve always thought of myself as a conscientious consumer. But it’s hard not to make a mess.

I’ve been diligent about recycling for years, thanks in large part to having lived in communities that provide lots of recycling options, in a state with a bottle bill. But there is a large category of waste material about which I have been thoughtless until recently, and that has made me look more closely at my overall consumption of packaged goods.

My meals yesterday took a lot of protecting. At breakfast I emptied a plastic milk jug and opened the next, a cardboard carton with a plastic o-ring beneath its cap, protecting its spout. Both, at least, are recyclable.

I ate my cereal reading the Saturday newspaper, the thickest of the week, as it is always jammed with inserts. Yesterday’s had ten, plus Parade magazine and a television guide. All of them went directly to my recycling bin without a glance. The best argument I have heard yet for Kindles, iPads and online journalism is environmental, sparing not only thousands of trees on a daily basis, but the vast, energy- and resource-consuming infrastructure of press and ink, and delivery trucks fanning out to countless stores and home delivery.

The middle of the day was light on garbage, thanks in part to a five-hour walk on which we each consumed two granola bars wrapped in thin, mylar-like substances, which came packaged in a cardboard box. For lunch, I opened the plastic wrapper around a bar of cheddar cheese, and placed the unused portion in a plastic sandwich bag.

Supper was the killer. For a lasagna-style casserole, I used a plastic jar of tomato sauce; a plastic tub of cottage cheese with a protective plastic skin beneath its plastic cap; a plastic container of tofu; a plastic box of mushrooms wrapped in plastic; a head of cauliflower wrapped in plastic; spinach in a plastic bag; and pasta in a cardboard box with a cellophane window. The containers and box were recyclable and the bag reusable. The skin and wraps were not.

I finished a small, glass jar of capers and a plastic tub of black olives. I microwaved a plastic pouch of frozen peas (not recyclable) that came in a cardboard box (recyclable). We drank wine that came in a glass bottle (recyclable).

These are only the ingredients that, on this day, I used up and had to dispose of their containers. The jar of green olives, the cereal box, the plastic cups of blueberries and rice pudding will be recycled another day.

I’ve begun reusing aluminum foil, plastic cups and plastic bags until they are dirty or otherwise unsalvageable. Not so long ago, I would have thought of this modest effort as silly, unnecessary, or unsanitary, if I thought about it at all; quaint economies my grandparents made, persisting today only among the world’s poor. But more and more I am trying to model the behavior I expect of others, and I deplore the thoughtless trash that dots my landscape.

I am looking for ways to be fully engaged in the world I live in, and that means being accountable, not just abdicating responsibility to faceless governments and nations for the global problems to which I contribute. That requires me to look honestly at my own appetites, my role as a consumer in all its complexity.

In the final analysis, I can only change myself, do what is in front of me. I don’t know fully how using less can make a difference, but it is the surest weapon I have.

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