Category Archives: Year Of No Garbage

A Day of No Plastic

Year Of No Garbage, , ,

During our Year of No Garbage I’ve come to realize that plastic is Public Enemy Number One: it doesn’t degrade, it often can’t— or won’t— be recycled, and it is doing all kinds of bad things in our bodies and in our environment. We have invented a monster, and the monster is everywhere.

So it occurred to me to wonder: How long could a person today avoid plastic? For example, how hard would it be to avoid plastic for… a single day?

I decided to try it. After assuring my family I would attempt this particular challenge solo, I laid out a quick set of rules. It would be very literal: I couldn’t touch plastic. It would last from the moment I got up until the moment I went to bed. And no obvious cheats —like wearing gloves.

Leading up to this Day of No Plastic I was super excited: weird experiments, of course, are my idea of a good time.

But I also began to get a little concerned. Every day I realized more and more things I wouldn’t be able to use. Not only could I not touch pens, my alarm clock, my hairbrush, the computer, or pretty much any food packaging, but I also couldn’t touch key items such as the toilet seat, the telephone, or even medication bottles. Most of my clothes were off limits because of synthetic fibers, including all tights, socks and bras.

I couldn’t drive anywhere, because cars are made of 50% plastic. This was probably just as well though, because I also couldn’t wear my glasses.

Still, I had no idea. Not really. I woke up on the morning of the appointed day and after carefully hovering over the freezing cold porcelain, automatically used the plastic soap dispenser to wash my hands. I was barely awake and already I had made MISTAKE #1.

At breakfast my family exclaimed over realizations of all the things I wouldn’t be able to touch that day.

“You can’t answer the phone!”

“Hey Mom, you may not be able to turn on a light switch… but you can use an oil lamp!”

I couldn’t do any of my normal exercise, because my yoga mat, our mini-trampoline, and the Bowflex are all made of plastic. A walk was possible, but I wasn’t sure I had any shoes without plastic. Or a coat without polyester.

There was an extended discussion over whether I would be allowed to walk on our floor, which is painted—thankfully resolved when my husband Steve recalled that the latex paint is covered by a natural finish made of whey protein— and whether I could sit in my chair in the living room—The label says it’s made of “mohair”? What is mohair? Turns out mohair is goat wool.

So I wouldn’t have to learn how to fly, or be required to relax by sitting on the wood coffee table. That was good.

Greta helpfully pointed out I couldn’t even get out of my own pajamas since the buttons are made of plastic. A few minutes later I went upstairs, forgot this entirely, and made MISTAKE #2.

Lucky for me our shower is tile. But I had to ask the girls to pour shampoo out of the plastic container for me. I was starting to feel like an invalid. It was as I got dressed in a pre-selected outfit composed entirely of cotton and wool— in the dark because I couldn’t turn on the light switch in my closet— that I began to get a sinking feeling.

There I was, without bra, make-up, or brushed hair. I made MISTAKE #3 while trying button my own sweater. Plastic buttons, AGAIN.

Now that I was at least clothed, what would I do with myself all day? Normally I’d write or do research, but the computer is all plastic. Magazines and books were off-limits, since most use plastic in the glossy pages and covers. Doing laundry was verboten, since all the washing machine dials are plastic, and who knew so many of our clothes and sheets are blended fabrics that use synthetic plastic materials? I couldn’t clean, because even my homemade cleaning solutions are in plastic bottles, and the vacuum cleaner is plastic.

I thought, at least I can clean up the kitchen.

MISTAKE #4: Picked up a plastic container.

MISTAKE #5: Pulled out plastic shelf of the dishwasher.

I found myself moving in slow motion, in an attempt to think before automatically touching something. Maybe I could veeeeeeeery carefully get ingredients out for making dinner later…

MISTAKE #6: the cap of a spice container.

A welcome diversion was the arrival of the mail, which gave me the chance to make

MISTAKE #7: Touching plastic tape while trying to open a box.

Lunch came and along with it MISTAKE #8: I touched a plastic bag trying to get a chip to eat. Ilsa ends up feeding me one and I feel like a toddler. I am five.

By this point I was walking through the house like a ghost with no power to affect the physical world: leaving lights on, leaving dishes at the table, leaving laundry unfolded. Without my glasses nothing was sharp and I walked around in a kind of a fog.

By mid-afternoon I’d become actively paranoid. Are you sure the chicken coop door handle isn’t plastic coated? I asked Steve anxiously. REALLY? I touched it gingerly and was relieved: the black handle was cold, the way metal should be.

At this point I had come to the realization I couldn’t do anything I normally do. Exercise, cooking, cleaning, writing, research, email… it was kind of like having a vacation day, but the worst, most frustrating vacation day ever.

My only solace was my embroidery project. I’d checked the thread and confirmed it was 100% cotton, thank goodness, and the towel, I knew, was cotton. Then it happened. I chanced upon the tag on the towel and read with dismay: 57% cotton, 32% polyester, 11% rayon.

Sighing, I finished my thread, folded the towel up and put aside MISTAKE #9.

Was it too early to go to bed? It was 2:30 PM.

“You could knit!” Ilsa suggested. “I could open the knitting book for you!” I slumped. Having people do so many menial things for me was unfamiliar and exhausting. It felt like a weird new kind of meditation retreat: I just sat in my armchair and watched other people do things: wrap Christmas presents, make coffee, scroll on their phones, do homework, open mail… not touching plastic meant I couldn’t do any of it.

MISTAKE #10 came when I tried to make dinner and automatically touched the kitchen timer. This was followed in rapid succession by:

MISTAKE #11: dishwasher rack. AGAIN.

MISTAKE #12: colander handle.

MISTAKE #13: cheese grater.

By the end of the day I had resorted to averting extreme boredom by reading the classifieds in the free newspaper circular that comes every week with our mail. I also perused a jaunty article entitled The Various Types of Glaucoma and Their Symptoms.

When I headed to bed, my hand stopped by the lamp on the nightstand, hovering by the plastic switch— HA! — it almost got me.

I still hate plastic and everything it is doing to us, but now I have a newfound understanding of what we are really up against. Who knew that in only a few short decades our society could have so thoroughly encased ourselves in mysterious plastic chemicals, to the point that doing without them immobilizes us?

Recently I happened upon an article that was published in the New York Times entitled Life Without Plastic Is Possible. It’s Just Very Hard.

I beg to differ- and I speak from experience.

The Devil Is In The Dumpster: Is Plastic Immoral?

Year Of No Garbage, , , ,

“I just want you to know that when this is over? We are not going to be doing this forever.”

That was my husband Steve, talking about living without throwing anything away, as we’ve done all this year, and he had about had it. It was late on a Saturday morning and we were standing in the driveway, arguing.

It had all started because of a beanbag chair. Two beanbag chairs, actually, that I had made a few years ago: one for each of our daughters. After picking a pretty fabric and sewing the pieces together with a zipper, I realized that stuffing it was… problematic. At least, if I didn’t want to use plastic. I desperately tried to find some eco-friendly stuffing.

Straw was too prickly. Rice or dried beans were too appetizing to mice. Old blankets or clothing were too… deflated.

Ultimately I gave up and bought online a bag of “recycled” beanbag filler. When it showed up, though, I was horrified: “recycled” beanbag material is basically shredded-up chunks of spongy Styrofoam tossed festively with staticky plastic micro beads. It was perhaps the worst thing I’d ever bought.

But I had bought it, so I figured it would go into the beanbags, be zipped shut, and I’d never have to deal with it again.

That was all true, for a while. Then in September we came home with two new cats adopted from the local shelter. As it turned out, the cats both LOVED the beanbags, and were also not ENTIRELY clear on the distinction between them and the litter box.

Mr. Innocent

So away went the beanbags into a storage closet. There they awaited the day when I felt brave enough to deal with sacks of used Styrofoam perfumed with pee.

Last Saturday was that day.

Steve was trying to help me transfer the beanbag filler from the shell to a garbage can and all the while he was getting more and more agitated.

“You can never write about this. You know that right? I mean, how do you justify throwing something like this away?”

“Well… either this falls under ‘Health and Safety garbage’, on account of the cat pee,” I said, “Or… we keep it in the trash can here until January first when the year is officially over.”

As we tried to dump the contents of the fabric bag, plastic beads and fluff were getting everywhere, floating in the air, sticking to our clothing, falling like snow onto our driveway.

“They will crucify you.” Steve said simply.

“Well… if they do, they do,” I said, uncomfortably. “I mean, I have to talk about this, right? This is what the whole thing is about. Things like this should not exist.”

“Things like this should be illegal.” Steve said, walking away in disgust.

All that fluff and springiness I had wanted for the beanbags was now working utterly against us. Styrofoam and pellets had completely filled the 95 gallon trash bin and were resistant to being packed down in any way- bouncing right back up after every attempt. Flecks of plastic were stuck in my hair, bits were drifting by on the ground. It was a plastic nightmare.

The Horror.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a shovel.”

Steve managed to scrape up all the bits that had fallen onto the ground, along with some gravel and dirt that helped weigh it down in the bin somewhat. From the garage he grabbed an old foam core sign to help keep it contained and I realized the sign was one we made for the Climate Strike in September of last year.

“Well that’s ironic.” I said.

We bickered some more about what would happen if the wind blew our bin over, (clearly, we would have to move) or whether I should take pictures of the hideous blob. It was beyond lunchtime and we were both getting hungry. Arguing on an empty stomach seems to be our specialty.

That’s when he said enough was enough.

“Year of No Sugar? That changed us, changed our lives… ” he said. “And all this garbage everywhere? All over the house? With no where to go? We can’t keep doing this. It’s killing our family.”

I just looked at him. I knew exactly what he was talking about: what the hell were people thinking making all this stuff for which there is no earthly solution? It’s beyond maddening- when you are forced to really look at it it’s… obscene. Yet, how could we possibly go back to life as before, knowing what we know now? Knowing that so many of the “recyclables” we put into single stream end up littering the landscapes of countries halfway around the world? Or floating in the ocean strangling marine life? Knowing how destructive this path is for the entire planet?

How can you ever put the genie back in the bottle?

It scared me, this fight, because it had veered into territory that touched on a fear of mine: the fear that I am somehow doing something quite horrible to my family in the selfish interest of my writing. Each one of the three times we’ve embarked on a “family project” I’ve considered the questions:

-Is this okay to ask of my family?

-Will it cause pain to or harm my children?

-Will this do harm to my marriage?

I know I’m lucky. Very lucky. Not many families would have been willing to go along with such schemes. What was really bothering me was the possibility that, in the homestretch, in the last month of what has turned out to be a ten-year enterprise, Steve might now be coming to the conclusion that I had done some harm to our family.

But I don’t think that now. I know Steve, and when he is upset, he starts trying to solve the problem. He doesn’t believe in a “no win scenario.”

What was making him crazy was the realization that I’d been coming to lately too: that there is no real solution here. There is no good place in the universe for the vat of horrible plastic crap that was before us. Being an eco-friendly consumer in today’s world of plastic in tens of thousands of variations is almost impossible because the game has been rigged: plastic is just too darn profitable for too many people. Want to buy most foods? Most products? Drive a car? Want to live in today’s world? It involves plastic.

So we make deals with ourselves. We do the “best we can.” We are encouraged to think we can make a difference by doing good things like recycling, and that such efforts are enough. We can be persuaded to believe it because the big lumbering trucks take away all evidence to the contrary on a weekly basis: absolving us. When you step outside that system however, as a Year of No Garbage has allowed us to do, you see the lie plain as day: the current system isn’t set up to actually work.

After we had secured the treacherous bin and headed inside, the argument blew over. I understood that the little pieces of sticky-plastic-everywhere had triggered Steve into wanting to pitch the baby of our whole year-long project out with the Styrofoam bathwater. If only for a few moments.

But that disgusting, landfill-ready mess is all the more reason for us to persevere. I think Steve hit the nail on the head when he was trying to scrape the driveway clean, when he said this stuff should be illegal. And then he said something else that I felt in my gut to be true.

He said, “This stuff is a sin.”

MORE True Confessions from a Year of No Garbage: Greta and Ilsa Version

Year Of No Garbage, , ,

Note: Our daughters, Greta and Ilsa, might just be the world’s best sports.

Greta, who is twenty, lives in Brooklyn where she studies acting. Because of the pandemic, she has spent a LOT of time this year at home with us in Vermont doing many of her classes online, but no matter where she is, she’s been doing the Year of No Garbage right along with us.

Meanwhile Ilsa, who is fifteen, is a sophomore in high school. She is completely at the mercy of her mom’s crazy-ass projects.

When I wrote my No Garbage True Confessions last week they both immediately chimed in with examples from their own experiences, and they were too awesome not to share. I hope you enjoy them and I wish you a super-safe, super-festive, and super-low-garbage Thanksgiving.

Greta’s List

  1. I have flushed Q-Tips.

 

  1. I have put the absorbent pads that come under raw chicken and steak (we have dubbed them: “meat maxi-pads”) into the “Health and Safety” garbage. Because, Ew.

 

  1. I have tortured my boyfriend with the great wall of jam jars containing little random bits of plastic that I have no idea what to do with.

 

  1. I have sworn vehemently at plastic forks.

 

  1. I have sat on the floor and stared blankly at washed and dried plastic wrappers that have no rightful place in the universe.

 

  1. I have had multiple debates with my boyfriend on whether or not it is okay to ask for “No receipt.”

 

  1. I apologize when I compost Kleenex.

 

  1. Shunning plastic wrap, I have saved food in wax paper until it no longer resembled recognizable food.

 

  1. I made my friend take a bacon wrapper home.

 

  1. I have only just barely resisted the overwhelming urge to pick up a paper straw wrapper off of the NYC street after someone littered in front of me. I mean do they know who I am? I am the queen of the plastic fork stash!

 

Ilsa’s List

  1. I hide wrappers behind my computer monitor. This is a good strategy, because if I can’t see them, they don’t exist.

 

  1. When we disinfect the desks at school, I apologize to the Clorox Wipes before throwing them out.

 

  1. I find damp paper towels in the pockets of my coat, my backpack and my jeans. When I can’t stand it anymore I employ the “Health and Safety” defense. I apologize to them too.

 

  1. I asked my friends to take their Halloween candy wrappers home.

 

  1. Whenever I eat something that has a plastic wrapper that needs washing, I stash it next to the sink and then RUN AWAY.

 

  1. Price tags from new clothing: get shoved to the back of the drawer. I’ll think about them next year!!

 

  1. My friend regularly offers to take wrappers home for me so I can have what everyone else is having. It’s sooooo nice of her, but totally against the rules! I took her up on it only once. Okay, twice.

 

  1. I annoy EVERYONE by checking for recycling numbers on EVERYTHING.

 

  1. When people ask me what all this is about I reply: “It’s this thing… garbage… can’t have… year-long… NEVERMIND.”

 

  1. If all else fails, try handing it to Mom. Then RUN AWAY.