My sister Jeanette is an activist. Her carbon footprint is small. For years she has been an advocate for the disabled, the poor, and anyone fighting a good fight. I first noticed this when she was in college in Kansas circa 1972. She purchased a car in our home state, Montana, and my parents decided it would be a good idea if I helped her drive it to back to school. It was my first real road trip without parents, and I was thrilled. It took forever to drive out of Montana, but we made it to Rapid City, South Dakota the first night. We found a little restaurant near our motel. When the server came to take our order, my sister calmly asked, "Do you serve union lettuce?"
"Excuse me?" asked the server. I thought he was kind of cute, and I was mortified when she repeated her question.
"How would I know?" came the incredulous response. Undaunted, she answered him. "Ask the cook for a lettuce box, look on the side, and if there is a thunderbird symbol, it is union lettuce. If so, I'd like a salad. Otherwise, I'll have soup." With each word she spoke, I felt like crawling under the table. The server rolled his eyes and finished taking our order.
We decided to wash up after a long trip. My sister told me that she was simply boycotting non-union lettuce in order to support the struggle of Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers. I still just thought the server was cute.
When we came back from the restroom, there was a salad plate at my sister's place. In the center was a cardboard thunderbird cut from the side of a lettuce box. She had her answer, followed by a salad with blue cheese dressing.
I can't say I've been an activist, at least not like Jeanette. But there has been something that has bothered me for a long time: waste and excess. Around that same time, our dad was invited to the Indy 500. Dad was in a position to grant lucrative contracts for heavy equipment, and companies were always trying to woo him. When he came home from Indiana, he was excited to show off pictures, not only of the speedway, but also of the catered receptions that were thrown to impress clients. I think I broke Dad's heart with my response. I told him that it was ridiculous that so much food was prepared, and much of it ultimately wasted, in a hedonistic salute to rich clients. I used words like "appalling" and "grotesque." I didn't offer any positive solutions, only high-sounding complaints. I now understand that my dad just wanted his kids to acknowledge that he was worthy of such extravagance: that he really was a big shot. But from my high horse, I looked completely beyond my humble dad who wanted me to know that he had been treated like a king for just one long weekend in May.
I still am turned off by excess, but I still don't know what to do about it. This Christmas, my husband ordered me a Sirius Satellite Radio online. The "Stiletto" unit is about the size of an iPod, and comes with a charger, headphones, earphones, and a short USB cable. But when I opened the box, there was so much packaging that I was a little shocked, and yes, appalled. It arrived intact and in good condition, but it just seemed like packing overkill. I wondered if it would have been better to buy it locally, reducing the packaging by one large box and some Styrofoam popcorn. I realize that the packaging overkill reduces damage and theft of products, but that doesn't help my conscience.
Is there a good answer, other than eschewing high-tech, highly-packaged purchases? I refuse to enter the last phase of my life as an anti-techonolgy dinosaur, but I worry that I might become fossilized under a mountain of trash. And if that happens, it won't matter what high horse I'm riding.
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