Wrapping Paper Detritus

Day 263: Wrapping Paper Detritus

Ever wonder why RubberMaid isn't
spelled RubberMade? I do.

I try to mitigate the environmental impact of wrapping gifts. I have lots of ways of doing this. Reusing other stuff, like old maps and funny papers. Smoothing and saving wrapping paper and bows, just like mothers did in 1931. Buying spools of grosgrain ribbon at the PTO Thrift Shop and using it year after year. Making present bags out of fabric scraps. Cutting up old greeting cards to use as present tags. If I'm really tempted to buy festive new paper, I shoot for the thin delicate kind, not the thick stuff that costs an arm and a leg and seems like something you could use to wallpaper your bathroom.

The accumulated result of all this is chaos in the RubberMaid wrapping bin. In honor of the stuff project, I decided to clean it out. This is what I am getting rid of: red polyester shiny fabric that is shaped too oddly to convert into present bags; Chinese take-out food containers that Jess gave me a few years ago filled with homemade granola, which are now disintegrating and unsuitable for regifting; cardboard ribbon spools empty of ribbon; old greeting cards and used envelopes that are covered with writing and unsuitable for gift tags; miscellaneous garbage, like gum wrappers, inkless pens and empty Scotch tape containers.

I also organized everything that remains. I put all the present bags together in a fabric bag, all the wrapping paper scraps and tissue in another fabric bag, tied spools of ribbon together with an elastic band, and neatly stacked the small jewelry boxes. The tape and scissors are tucked neatly in corner. The box will remain this way until someone else uses it, which will probably be the day after tomorrow.

For today, it's all good.

Flashlight and iPhone Case

Day 262: Flashlight and iPhone Case
Christmas season. I had planned to take care of at least a couple weeks of the stuff project by getting rid of lots of unwanted Christmas junk. It turns out I have none to get rid of.

Awwww

There's a lot written about Christmas. A lot of mixed feelings about the holidays. The objections to it:

1. The holidays create pressure to feel happy. It highlights the feeling of alienation for those who aren't. Suicide rates spike before Christmas and Thanksgiving.
2. Christmas takes over our society, but not everyone celebrates it. It's exclusionary, yet all-encompassing.
3. Christmas is commercialized. It causes people to purchase unneeded things, which has an environmental impact. People feel pressure around gift-giving; it's stressful and overwhelming. It's no fun. People spend more money than they can afford, causing financial hardship.

A souvenir of one of my many
trips to Mexico. A teeny tiny nativity.

All this is true, and yet, I like Christmas. I always have. It's not a religious thing for me. I just like the smell of pine and hot chocolate. I like the sparkling colored lights on these darkest of days, like our own little constellations. I like the silly ritual of stocking stuffers, Tic Tacs and chocolate geld, socks and ear buds and chewing gum. I like doing jigsaw puzzles instead of checking email, eating Jane's fudge and decorating her plastic tree. I like all our Christmas ornaments: the ones my kids made, the ones I made as a kid, the ones my mother used as a kid, the ones that include adorably retro second grade school photos. I like singing Christmas carols, although, like my mother before me, I had a secular upbringing. It's a lovely story, but I don't believe in the miracle birth.

A sawed off clothes pin in a felt suit
with a Magic Marker smile. We
made them from a Good Housekeeping
pattern when I was a kid

I was delighted, as a college freshman, to learn in my Celtic culture and mythology class that the December festival of lights predates Christianity. It felt like permission to celebrate Christmas. Now that I'm a little (a lot) older, I don't need permission. Christmas can be just a simple uncomplicated ritual in a world that lacks ritual. No need for justification.

People all over the world, of many faiths, believe - deeply and absolutely - that their own faith is true. People all over the world believe - deeply and absolutely - that other faiths are false. People bomb abortion clinics and run airplanes into buildings for this reason. I myself have no early religious training that would dispose me to believe one faith over another. Nothing to slant me toward Confucionism over Christianity. No bias toward Buddhism, Bahai or Zoroastrianism. No reason to favor the Shintos over the Siekhs. Of course, this isn't entirely true; I'm certainly more familiar with Christianity and Judaism because of the accident of my culture and surroundings. But close enough.

Christmas mouse from my
mother's childhood tree

Awwww

I do believe in kindness, and helping others, and doing the right thing. I believe that most people behave morally even without threat of external punishment or promise of reward: people do what's right because it's the right thing to do. If God is a conscious and separate entity, then God must at least be the moral equal of humanity. Therefore, I believe - but I don't know - that I won't be punished for choosing wrong. If it turns out that the Mahayana Buddhists are the ones who got it right, then I guess I'll be all right. If it's the Church of Christ, I guess I'm in trouble - along with everybody else in the world who got born in the wrong place at the wrong time. I have no more interest in a god who excludes Jews and others than I have in a country club that does the same.

I can part with this half-working
flashlight and iPod case

I guess I'm like most other folks who believe what their mothers believe. In the words of my own mother: "Love me or else. Not."

Magic Kit in Texas Pecan Pie Box

Day 261: Magic Kit in Texas Pecan Pie Box

Magic. The word may be a bit overused, but only because the idea is so thrilling. So tantalizing. So...well...magical.

I'm a sucker for everything from Harry Potter to sleight of hand. And I do mean sucker. I saw Penn & Teller at the beautiful Orpheum Theater at Market and Hyde around 1995. A perfect melding of magic and comedy, they had no compunctions about revealing their tricks. I was one of the blind idiots in the audience sitting on the edge of my seat, mouth slightly open, eyes squinting in concentration, awed and suspicious, completely fooled while knowing that it was all illusion. Over and again they slowed the tricks down, slower than the Six Million Dollar Man, explaining all the while how they were misdirecting our eyes, tricking us into looking in the wrong direction. People were laughing and clapping, catching on, figuring it out. Everyone but me. Even as they were explaining the misdirection, my eyes were looking the wrong way.

This box of magic tricks is like the strip in Las Vegas on a bright sunny morning. Not nearly as breathtaking as at night, dressed up with neon, the darkness hiding the gum wrappers and flaking paint. A magic kit isn't for someone who loves magic. It's for someone who's patient enough, detail-oriented enough and devilishly deceitful enough to put in the hours. Someone who reads operating instructions.

That person is not me, nor is it Sam, nor Emma.

I like the construction of the pie box. The sentiment - "You might give some serious thought to thanking your lucky stars you're in Texas" - is exactly designed to discomfit my diffident mid-western heart. Those Texans. Tsk.

Loved the pecan pie, though.

Countertop Scraps

Day 260: Countertop Scraps

These scraps are so small I will never
be able to use them. Next time the
counter gets damaged, we'll have to
replace the whole thing

So far, the only thing I've gotten rid of and regretted is fabric. Most of it I don't miss, but I should have kept the sturdy fabrics that I really like. Other than that, I have no regrets. So far.

Things I put into the give-away pile and took back out again:

(1) The off-white teapot with green vines that our au pair Nicole Hinkel bought after she'd broken the third teapot in a row. I put it in the pile because I haven't used it in years, it has no sentimental value and I have a blue willow teapot that I also haven't used in years. I took it back out because it (sort of) matches the desert rose china that belonged to my grandmother

(2) The Kitchenaid kitchen timer that came free with my stand mixer. I have a manual timer that I like much better, plus a timer on the microwave and another timer on the oven. I have never needed four timers at once and I generally don't like battery-operated things. I took it back out because it's high quality and Emma will be moving into an apartment in less than two years. I put it in again because I'd rather get Emma a really cute timer, like a tomato or a pig, but I took it back out because she'll need a lot of things and it would be nice to have a few things to hand down. (Another good reason for keeping the teapot.)

(3) A plastic zippered make-up bag, pink, with a lower-case "k" on the side. It is too small to be truly practical as a travel case. Although it's nice plastic, it's still plastic, and I don't really like plastic things. I took it back out because my next-door-neighbor Barbara gave it to me as a gift, and I like things that remind me of Barbara. Also, my niece Kaeli might like it. On the other hand, last time I tried to give Kaeli a little purse, she declined, telling me she was trying not to accumulate too much stuff.

(4) A giant stock pot that I use to sterilize canning jars. For the last couple of years I've just washed the jars in the dishwasher and put the jam in them hot. No one has gotten botulism yet. I'm not sure why I took it back out of the give-away pile now that I think of it.

Painted Blown Egg

Emma loved this little painted egg
in a display case, like her mother
before her. I bought it in San Francisco
when I was in seventh grade and kept it
on my bookcase for decades, until Emma
took it into her own room years ago.

Day 259: Painted Blown Egg

 First the little egg stand came
unglued and got lost. Then, just
a few days ago, the egg broke.
Next trip to SF, I know what
I'm getting for a souvenir.

My little egg is 18 years old today. Her first birthday away from home. There was an article in the New York Times just a couple days ago about the hidden risks of children becoming legal adults.

No, I will not ask her to complete a living will or give me power of attorney. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it - if I come to it - and I hope I never do.

I remember what I was doing eighteen years ago today, of course: walking around and around and around the block in San Francisco, hoping to induce labor after my waters broke. And then walking around the block again. I should have realized it would be my last carefree walk around the block for many years to come. How little I appreciated the freedom of opening the door and walking out it, easy as a marble rolling down a waterslide. 

I'm free again, but the freedom feels more like a missing molar. It doesn't hurt, but you notice it's missing. Your tongue keeps exploring the gap, and then your finger. Yep, the tooth is gone. Yep, you can still eat an apple, and brush and floss, and smile. No one sees anything different. But you know that something important is gone.

It's amazing how quickly she turned into a human being again. A few weeks at college, and suddenly her room is cleaner, and she likes the food we cook for dinner, and she doesn't mind a passing kiss on the cheek. I never liked that her birthday fell between Thanksgiving and Christmas - sometimes it felt a little like an afterthought - but I'm so grateful she was home last weekend for birthday cake. I hope she's enjoying the Zingerman's brownies and colorful birthday candles in her dorm tonight. I hope she feels pretty in her new outfit, and that someone sings happy birthday to her in person (besides me, over the phone). I'm pretty sure she's not going to rush off and join the army. I'm pretty sure that I'll agree with how she votes. I'm pretty sure she's going to graduate from college. I'm pretty sure she's going to be just fine. She already is: mighty fine.

Happy birthday, my sweet little E.

Misto

Day 258: Misto

More from the spice cupboard: a Misto. Could be considered waste reducing, because it replaces disposal aerosol spray oils like Pam. Could be considered waste creating, because it stops working after a while and just sprays out a single messy stream of oil in an unpredictable direction, such that you shove it to the back of the cupboard, stop using it, and revert to good old-fashioned small pours of oil from the bottle directly into the pan, and why would anyone need Pam anyway?

Do you ever get tired from thinking so much? I do.

Pepper Grinder, Two Salt Shakers and No-Salt

Day 257: Pepper Grinder, Two Salt Shakers and No-Salt

More surprises in the cupboard, where I was rooting around looking for molasses to add to the slow-cooker beef ribs this morning. I would have said that our was not overstuffed with stuff 256 days ago. It's amazing how wealth plus space plus time equals lots of forgotten things tucked away in drawers, cubbies and shelves.

Two more of Barbara's items. If you'll recall, I promised Barbara when she moved - five years ago? six? - that I would take anything she couldn't quite part with, and either use it or give it away. Instead, I just shoved the items behind other similar items and forgot about them.

The No-Salt is a by-product of synchronized swimming. Emma drank so much Gatorade, I decided to try to make my own. Big mistake. Here are the ingredients:

Potassium Chloride , Potassium Bitartrate , Adipic Acid , Silicon Dioxide , Mineral Oil and Fumaric Acid

These ingredients taste absolutely nothing like salt. Their flavor most closely resembles the bitter aftertaste of saccharin. I wouldn't inflict No-Salt on anyone, so it's going in the garbage.

I can smell the ribs and soup bones in the CrockPot now, flavored with a little orange juice, molasses, onions, garlic, salt and pepper.