On Whackadoodlery

     I know that on the spectrum of green living, my lifestyle is firmly within the realm of Crunchy Green Granola. This is a lifestyle that has evolved over the years, and most of the time, it just seems normal to me. Every once in a while, though, something happens to remind me how whackadoodle much of society thinks that I am. 

     Like the time, my friends gave me a tote bag which tells the world, in pink, flowery letters that "I might like you better if you recycle." Well, yes, I think recycling is important, but I'll like you even if you don't. Well, probably.

     Or the time we were hosting a party, and some friends brought zucchini and batter for frying. MMMMmmmmmm. As she handed me the roll of paper towels for draining the zucchini, Erin said, "I knew you wouldn't have any. I almost didn't bring these as I thought they might burst into flame upon entering your kitchen." Well, okay, no I don't buy paper towels, but this is a perfectly good application for them, and fried foods really are better when well-drained. I put the paper towels on the usually empty rack glued to the bottom of the cabinets by a previous occupant, and there they stayed for several weeks until they'd been used up on odd jobs. Paper towels can go into my compost sprawl, so I don't mind using them when available/necessary.

     Then,  today, when I delivered the soup I had agreed to make to feed coaches and judges at Sofia's gymnastics meet, the moms organizing the spread whipped out a box of plastic, disposable crock pot liners. I had no idea such things even existed. I watched in horror as they lined my crock pot and poured my home-made, mostly organic, from scratch soup into a giant plastic bag inside a hot crock pot. I said nothing. Well, nothing out loud. Here's what I was saying on the inside:

"Ladies, the crock part COMES OUT. Even better, it fits in the DISHWASHER! And even if it didn't, all you have to do is put a little soap and water in the crock pot and turn it on high for half an hour or so, then dump and wipe. Really, sisters, would you really rather eat plasticy food than clean out a crock pot?"

I calmly walked away, leaving them to their work. When I went back later to pick up my crock pot and the leftovers, one of the women complimented me on the chicken and rice, and noted that there's just enough for our supper. 

     I brought the soup home in the lined crock pot, plugged it back in, and am enjoying a bowl as I type. It's not so bad. Still, I'd rather be whackadoodle, even if that does mean scrubbing the occasional crock pot.