THE "R" WORD

RECYCLE  -  REUSE  -  REPURPOSE

Pick one. Shoot, pick 'em all! We're firmly entrenched in a world where activities beginning with "re" have taken on an importance we never envisioned--if "re" were a person, he/she would be crowned monarch of the universe.

Well, maybe not that important. But, important, yes.

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Recycling - Like many people here in my little town/city in Northeast Indiana, I recycle. 

As you no doubt know, that means I save my cardboard, junk mail, glass bottles, boxes of various types and sizes, plastics 1 through 7, and all advertising materials that come in the mail or are inserted in the crack between my storm door and the frame.

The above items are what my community allows to be recycled--the understanding is that these things don't end up in the landfill. Being a good citizen, I place all recyclables in the bin provided to my household so it can be emptied every other Monday. The bin in trundled out to the curb, and at the end of the day (or earlier) the bin is trundled back to its resting station near the garage.

Although I never see those same disposables again, I suspect I've purchased any number of items made from what I donated or what was donated by nice folks hundreds of miles away. Little hints: "This bag is made from 80% recycled plastic." Or, "Shipped in 100% recycled paper." 

But my favorite is something I rarely use--for several years I've saved and donated plastic caps from bottles, jugs, and other containers: medicine boxes, milk jugs, twist-off soda tops, and the flat plastic covering off the yogurt carton. All these I donate to whomever I know--or can locate--who is saving them for someone who is sending them to somebody somewhere who makes park benches. Yes, park benches. If you haven't come across these, go to a park or picnic area or other facility (the YMCA in my town has a bench on each of the four corners of its property)--all colors; our local ones are bright blue.

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Reusing - This has been a way of life since I was a pup, and long before. I don't think there was ever a time when I had a one-time-use item. Okay, I'll grant you facial tissues and toilet tissue and even paper towels--but before we had these disposables, we used: handkerchiefs, Monkey Ward catalogs, and old rags. Don't believe me? Ask somebody you know who's over 60 years old; make sure it's not somebody who grew up in a wealthy family.

The aforesaid old rags were the last vestiges of clothing somebody in the family had worn, and worn out. When there was no longer enough fabric to hold the patch over a hole, then it was time to "reuse"; for example:

buttons - removed and put in the button box for use on other pieces of clothing that had lost theirs

zippers - if in working order, then carefully removed from the dying fabric and stored for use in another garment

pants legs - please don't laugh until you hear the whole story. Thank you. I married into a family of collectors--books, stamps, rocks. . . yes, rocks. Lots of interesting things you can learn about the natural world by looking at rocks, and studying about them to find out what they can teach us. Rock hunting was a regular activity for my kids and their dad and granddad. Now, clearly, rocks can get heavy after a while. So the lower part of a pair of old jeans (buttons and zipper removed already; see above) was cut off, a seam stitched across one of the open ends, and the resulting sack, about 12 inches long, would hold an acceptable weight of rocks. A piece of rope or twine tied around the top was sufficient to keep the rocks in the sack until the rock hunter was back in the car.

And the leftovers after the above cannabilization became rags--for washing the car, wiping up spills, cleaning hands after changing the oil in the car--anything that called for a rag. Which would later be discarded, or, if not damaged beyond all keeping, washed (with other rags), hung on the clothesline, and added to the ragbag for a later date.

Another way to reuse an item is to restore it--another "re" word. Sometimes the restored (also called refurbished) thing can be used for the same purpose as before. You'll find people in the business of restoring--art work in museums; furniture in stately homes or museums; vintage clothing used in dramas, reenactments, festivals; or merely bringing an old piece of furniture up to date. I have an oak washstand that I purchased for ten bucks from my landlady nearly 40 years ago; it had been used to store nuts, bolts, and greasy tools. After restoring, which I think cost me about $300, it was said to be worth twice that, if I wanted to sell it. I didn't.

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Repurposing - this is the new buzzword. Take something old, worn out, unused, out of date, and find a new use for it. Give it a new lease on life. In my household, a wardrobe circa 1930s has become a storage unit for fabric, quilt patterns, leftover batting (large scraps only), and partially completed projects. The hanging area, intended for clothing not to be folded, now houses large pieces of fabric stored on padded hangers and pieced quilt tops ready to be finished.

One shallow drawer was reserved for painting supplies, and the other shallow drawer holds paintings, studies, and color charts, none of which is framed.

My daughter's nightstand is a vintage trunk; she's been known to use an old leather suitcase, sitting up on end, for the same purpose. Takes less room than the trunk in a small room.

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I don't know if we can somehow use the "R" words as guides in our lives. But let's explore that a bit:

Recycle - can I take my old feelings and disappointments, give them away for someone to transform them into something else? My church tells me I can do that very thing.

Reuse - can I take the same talents and gifts and flaws I've had all along and use them, perhaps, to help someone who's going through a hard time? 

Repurpose - can I, at my age, become a different kind of vessel for good?

Worth a try, don't you think?

Til next time,

Thursday's Child

  

 

 

 

 

ON NOT-READING

Let me say right up front--this is not a plea to get you to give up reading. It's not even an example of good or right behavior.

The best thing I can say for myself and this post is this: It's a confession.

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There was a time, especially early in my life, when I could've been chosen as the poster child for reading, had there been such a person. Reading was natural to me, but only after I'd learned a few rudimentary rules, such as:

• Learn to pronounce words by "sounding out" the letters. (This rule was intended to free up adults who huffed--some even rolled their eyes--every time I asked how a word sounded. I must've asked too often.)
• Learn the meaning of words #1: by the context--though I doubt that context was used by those who advocated this practice. (Again, this was a rule to benefit adults; but in hindsight, it benefited me, as well.)
• Learn the meaning of words #2: by looking them up. (Well-meant advice, but in practice it meant that I had to stop reading, find the dictionary, then find the word in the dictionary, and read the meaning. Then return to reading, if I could find my place, and try to insert the meaning of the word I'd just looked up. I wasted a lot of years doing this, believe me.)
• Listen for outside voices--a common occurrence was "Get your nose out of that book, young lady, and finish the dusting." (My savior in this instance was my Aunt Sara, who taught eight grades in a one-room school; her blessed rejoinder to my mother was, "Oh, let her read. It's so good for her. And she'll get good grades in her studies." God bless Aunt Sara! Getting good grades was probably my parents' main Goal in Life for their daughter.)
• Read only when (1) in class; (2) alone; (3) riding in the car; or (4) wherever I could find a hiding place so I wouldn't get snagged for odious household tasks.

[I'm sure you've already twigged to the fact that I was an only child, thus the only family slave, er, no, helper. That's it, helper. As I matured, more or less, I could see that my contributions to the family welfare by washing or drying dishes, picking up my clothes, putting away toys and books, or running errands (I loved going to the store to buy a loaf of bread or something equally simple) would free my mother's time to do other things I wasn't old enough or strong enough to do.]

Once I was well-established in the smooth operation of the family, I had to find time to read. Homework was always a good excuse, except I didn't have much. Most of my work was done at school during elementary and junior high. (Yes, I know that's old school talk.) 

One place I could always read was at Grandma Jenkins's house. My mom would take me and my current book when she went to visit Grandma; then the aunts would start showing up. I'd sit in a corner and read--everyone admired how good I was, to sit quietly while they all talked at once (seven women all talking at full-on volume at the same time is quite a scene). What they didn't know was that I could read my book and listen to their conversations at the same time. I learned a lot about life just listening to their gossip, er, no, conversations. This knowledge stayed inside me until I began writing novels--then it became an encyclopedia of human behavior that fed into my characters.

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From the above, you can glean the benefits, the advantages, even the joys of reading. 

Now we come to the last several months. I've written before about my penchant for re-reading--like visits with old friends, those rereads. Last year I went through two or three series of books that I'd read at least twice before.

Once I got the flu, or virus, or both--whatever it was--once I got sick, I didn't have the energy to read. Didn't even have the energy to watch videos, though they were at least easier to sustain; and I could always fall asleep to a video if I needed to.

As of the coming of Spring, I have been basically back in the game. Not ready to train for a marathon or paint the barn before breakfast, but I am taking up life where I left off last winter. Except for one thing--I can't read for more than a few minutes.

This new condition is not due to lack of materials--I've bought at least four books (one an anthology containing three novels) and had a couple given to me for my birthday. The anthology and one other are fiction. Two are biographies. One is a self-help book. And the other is the story of the founding of Pepperidge Farm (including recipes).

You can see I've covered all the bases--fiction, nonfiction, cookbook . . . .

It's also not a problem with eyesight or other physical limitation.

So, you ask, what do I do instead of reading? I watch videos--online church services; art tutorials (hundreds, literally, to choose from); sewing/quilting tutorials. Detective series, old movies, classic films. All free. All available at the touch of the computer keys. My daughter and I are partial to British detective series.

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I look forward one day soon to holding a book in my hands and reading words printed on the pages. Reading demands that I use my imagination to help the writer create the fictional (or real) world of the book. Videos have helped me keep my mind active, and I'm grateful for that, really I am. But books--! 

Talk to you soon--if I'm not lost in a book . . . .

WORDS FOR SPRINGTIME . . . 

We are well and truly into Spring. My neighbor has mowed his grass twice since the snow went away. Birds are eating everything we put out. And the wren who likes my house, has tried again, this year, to build a nest on top of my porch light--we even gave her a new wren house of her very own!

Here's a poetic thought from Robert Frost to honor Spring:

NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

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Spring will be with us for a while yet, then we'll let her go and enter into another season.

We don't own her--she's only loaned to us for a time. Let's enjoy Spring while she's with us.

P.S. I saw my first goldfinch this morning, all decked out in her golden plumage. Now there's

something that can stay for three seasons!

P.P.S. Sorry about the spacing--not able to fix it at the moment. 

 IN CASE YOU WONDERED...

Or, even if you didn't wonder . . . today we're going to explore a phrase that seems to be in regular use in our country: OLD SCHOOL.

Know how long it's been around? Go ahead, have a guess--10 years? 20 years? Mid-to-late 20th Century?

Nope, all wrong. My Oxford Dictionary & English Usage lists 1749 as the first use. That's right--not a typo--1749. That's more than two and a half centuries ago!

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Now, in case you never figured out what Old School means--and even if you don't really care (I have a lot of things like that in my life)--here are a couple of definitions/usages:

1: adhering to traditional policies or practices--an old-school coach

2: characteristic or evocative of an earlier or original style, manner, or form--old-school music

Old School is also used to describe "adherents of traditional policies and practices."

I sense you're muttering to yourself--why is she going on about this, anyway? Well, I'll tell you why.

Yesterday I finished reading a mystery by Alan Hunter, a Brit, who wrote the George Gently series. In the very first book in the series the term "old school" was used to describe Chief Inspector Gently's methods--he thinks of himself as a traditionalist, following prescribed protocols for detection. The out-of-town police force he's been sent to assist have their own tried-and-true methods--you can almost hear them saying, "That's not the way we do things down/up/over/out here." So he's branded "old school." (Incidentally, he isn't unduly bothered by their opinions of him. Good thing, too, because he later uncovers the true villain.) (Not only that, he isn't a "letter of the law" kind of detective; he uses what he has, mainly his brain and his intuition. He says police work isn't only science, it's an art, too.)

Alan Hunter's debut in the crime novel genre was in 1955. When I came to "old school" in a book as old as that (admittedly, I am older than that myself), I was intrigued. Really? Used in 1955?

That's what sent me off to look in whatever reference books I own to see if there was any chance the term was around longer ago. 

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I'm not sure why you need to know about a 270-plus-year-old phrase. Not sure why I need to know either.

Could it all boil down to how we view ourselves? If it's a new word, a new phrase, or simply a new way of using that word/phrase, did we just invent it, say in the past few years? Did we hear it on TV, or read it in a printed work, or come across it on the Internet (that repository of practically everything you'd ever want to know, or not)?

Are we so vain that we think all "new" things are really new? Wouldn't surprise me a bit.

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But we might remember the following:

     That which has been is what will be, That which is done is 

     what will be done, And there is nothing new under the sun. 

          Ecclesiastes 1:9 (New King James Version)

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While you ponder and mull this week, you might also remember this is a time leading up to Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and, finally, glorious Easter. 

Til next time,

Blessings!

Thursday's Child