Random Brain Dumping

Musings and observations about life

You, too, can make history

Sure, Inauguration Day is historic and not only because this year, it falls on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Not to take anything away from the president’s day, or MLK, but I recently did something history making, something that you, too, can do.

The accomplishment took months to achieve, but it was years in the making.

I’ve been saving and saving, and on the second Saturday in the month, I did it.

Yes, they're recyclable ...

Yes, they’re recyclable …

I recycled Styrofoam.

OK, Styrofoam is a trademark name, but you know the stuff I’m talking about.

The stuff we’ve been told for generations is not Earth-friendly because decomposition takes thousands of years (if it ever decomposes) and because it’s not been recyclable and just ends up in landfills.

That stuff, technically called expanded polystyrene, polystyrene foam, polystyrene plastic or expanded plastic. It comes in many forms: peanuts, cups, to-go containers. It keeps cold stuff cold and hot stuff hot – without freezing or burning our hands.

And we usually just put it in the trash when we’re finished with it. I’ve tossed the stuff in the trash for decades.

Last year, after I simply couldn’t bear the thought of contributing further to the mounds of trash already around Atlanta, I looked up “recycling” and “Styrofoam,” and found that the a group called Keep Atlanta Beautiful offers recycling of all sorts of things the first and second Saturday of each month.

Electronics. Paper. Plastic. Aluminum.

And Styrofoam.

Not only does recycling the plastic reduce the size of landfills, but since it’s made from petroleum and has other chemicals, recycling reduces chemical leaching. (I wonder if recycling could also affect gas prices since gasoline comes from petroleum, too.)

The problem for me, though, is that I could not justify driving six miles just to recycle a to-go container and cup.

... As long as they have the recycle symbol, with a 6 in center.

… As long as they have the recycle symbol, with a 6 in center.

So, I stockpiled the stuff. In trash bags. For months and months until I thought I had enough to recycle. Four in all.

And, I had to rinse each container, not only to reduce the likelihood of unwanted visitors, but because Keep Atlanta Beautiful required that each container be rinsed.

Oh, the recyclable expanded plastic must have the number 6 inside the recycle triangle (usually on the bottom of the container).

On the first Saturday of the month, I drove about 15 miles in my big honkin’ truck with my four bags, relying on the GPS of my “smart” phone, only to end up at what the phone said was the correct address but ended up being a field.

Even after I decided to pay attention to building numbers rather than listen to the GPS, I still didn’t find the location.

Undeterred, I went home and left the bags in the truck.

A week later, success – about 42 seconds after I arrived at the second venue.

Of those who ventured to the site, I was the only one at the Styrofoam recycling truck.

Hmm. I don’t think word has gotten out.

Styrofoam is, indeed, recyclable – at least in many cities.

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January 21, 2013 Posted by | Random Brain Dumping | , , , | 1 Comment

My favorite Christmases

Oh, so many Christmas memories, my favorites being three: two as a child and one as an adult.

In my life, I’ve seen two white Christmases, separated by four decades.

My first white Christmas was in North Carolina, where my family was visiting my maternal grandmother. Grandmother’s porch was the type that kids could play under, so when the snow hit, that made the porch a great jumping off point.

I recall jump after jump into the snow, but what made that Christmas a favorite is that Santa visited us at Grandmother’s house … and our house.

Yes, I was that young and still believed in Santa Claus. I have no idea what Santa brought me that year, but I do remember getting home and having presents there, too.

Bass violin

The bass was a piece of art in my living room until my youngest son got his own place.

How did Santa know to leave presents at both houses?

Fast forward six or seven years to the summer, where I asked for a watch for my birthday. I’ve never been one to ask for much, but that year, I asked for what I wanted.

I didn’t get a watch for my birthday. I got what was probably my first dose of disappointment. For months, I struggled to swallow that disappointment. How could I hold on to disappointment with the two people who made sure I (and my nine siblings) had things I needed?

I didn’t dare ask for anything for Christmas. I don’t even know if I participating in “calling” the various possibilities in the Sears and Roebuck catalog that came just before Christmas.

Usually, the kids would get the catalog and go through it; if one person called a toy, no one else could claim it. Lots of wishful thinking, as I don’t think we ever got anything from the catalog.

On Christmas morning, though, we would wake up early and rush to the tree to see who got what, even keeping count of who got how many.

This Christmas after my first disappointment, I only recall getting one gift. Knowing my mother, I probably got more, but one stood out.

A small box with a tortoise-shell watch with square frame and brown band.

Somewhere among the stuff I will never throw away is that watch, missing half the watch band and long-since inoperable.

Running a close third of childhood favorites came the day after Christmas, the year my father called from the hospital to say my mother had had a girl. Finally, a baby sister after three younger brothers.

Finally, I’ve had a tough time deciding which Christmas was the best, but my favorites as an adult all were about other people.

I recall scraping up $2,500 to give my youngest son a bass violin in his third year of playing, a gift he still has but later told me he had wanted an Atari that year.

Then, was the year I gave each of my siblings custom-made dog tags as key chains, with “Margaret and Bill’s Top 10” on the front, the sibling’s childhood nickname and birth order on the back.

And the calendar with three generations of pictures corresponding with birth months, and the birthdays written on the respective dates. Oddly, that 2007 calendar mirrored 2012, so we got to use it again.

My favorite Christmas of all, though, was the first time I picked a name from the holiday tree at work. The names were of children in a shelter, with their Christmas wishes written on the back.

I chose several children, not wanting to leave anyone out.

That year was the first time I actually saw someone’s Christmas list. It’s amazing the simple things on the list.

Basic things. Backpack. Underwear. A few toys.

That year, I realized I’ve lived a blessed life.

I’ve always believed that simple things can have major rewards. I know now the simple act of giving is far better than receiving.

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December 24, 2012 Posted by | Random Brain Dumping | , , , , | 4 Comments

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