What I Need is a System

The first voicemail I had today was from a friend making a 6:30 a.m. emergency trip to the supermarket for breakfast and lunchbox items. She called from the parking lot.

“I just bought reusable shopping bags,” she advised me. “It’s funny; now I feel like everyone is noticing my bags - - like they probably think I have them full of fresh fruit and vegetables instead of the frozen waffles, Lunchables and pizza. I remembered what you said about status or stigma are often the reasons people change.”

I didn’t hear the phone ring so I avoided waxing philosophical about grocery bags at 6:30 in the morning, but I am glad she shared her milestone. I am interested in the green bag culture shift. It’s one that I’ve been working on myself - - for months - - I keep forgetting to take my cloth totes into the grocery store. When the bagging associate asks, “Plastic ok?” I try to compensate for my memory lapse. “No, I’m fine. I’ll just carry these. My bag is in the car.” Monday I walked out carrying a loaf of bread and balancing two apples and a bottle of salad dressing in my arms just to defy the plastic bag. (That wasn’t sensible, but I made it.)

Recently when I had my reusable totes, I asked the bagging associate at my nearby Publix supermarket if many customers were bringing their own bags. He shook his head. “Not many.”

Why aren’t we using them? Heaven only knows there are plenty of totes around. I think it’s because we don’t know how. We haven’t created a convenient system yet.

In 1971, I spent September in Norway where my parents lived. Twice a week I shopped the small town of Risor with my mother, and we’d meet downtown for coffee with the ladies of her generation. Their shopping ritual seemed quaint and charmingly foreign. These women carried in their purses several nylon shopping totes, each of which folded into a pouch about the size of a wallet and weighed almost nothing. As they went from shop to shop in the several blocks that were downtown, they unfurled a tote as needed and purchases went into the handy lightweight reusable bags. They had a convenient system, which was propagated by an attitude of self-sufficiency in a small country.

Currently I own a hodge podge of colorful cotton and canvas bags collected from conferences I have attended. When I shop I’m advertising everything from Mohawk carpet to Fannie Mae mortgage. When not in service, these totes lie in a rumpled cluster on the seat of the car. No system. I’ve decided it’s time to solve my problem.

Some online research confirmed what I hoped. Nylon zip-into-pocket tote bags are available out there but with prices starting from $29 to over $100 (clearly meant for a status culture beyond mine). I am going for sensible value. I kept looking until I found a source for affordable totes; it just means I have to buy 500 hundred at a time. I’m going for it.

If you have tips for organizing and using your totes, please consider sharing your methods with me.

Death by Thermostat Not an Option

I’m trying to deal responsibly with the old thermostat we just replaced. I can see the bubble of mercury. I googled for disposal advice for consumers and came up with the same answers I already know.

1) If you’re in Maine, mail in old thermostats for a $5 rebate (I’m in Florida)

2) Take it to your county’s hazardous waste center (20 miles away)

or as one busy Brooklyn-ite wrote on a forum website:

3) “Toss the freakin’ thing and be done with it.” (Don't think I'm not tempted)

But, today is one of those brilliant spring days when a ride across town to the hazardous waste disposal center seems like an adventure and not so much the hassle it actually is. Although, how prudent is a 40 mile round-trip to deliver a teardrop of mercury? Not very, if gas prices plus my valuable time and the carbon emissions I’ll generate are the issues. On the other hand, if death were the alternative, I’ll make the drive.

Death by thermostat would be slow coming from the landfill. According to the EPA mercury must bio-accumulate, first in the lower levels of the food chain, working its way up until humans ingest it.

Old landfills that were constructed without liners can leak mercury into groundwater. Today mercury is more likely to be released as a component of methane gas. But, the EPA explains, there is mitigation for that. Burn the methane.

“Combustion of landfill gas reduces the toxicity of gas emissions by converting the organic mercury compounds, including methylated mercury, to less toxic, less hazardous, inorganic mercury compounds.”(EPA)

If the landfill is burning methane as it is released, then it seems like this explanation has given me a pass in case I decide to go with the Brooklynite’s suggestion to just toss the thing.

Here I am again on the threshold of sensible sustainability. Because there is no easy-to-use community infrastructure in place for retrieval of items containing small amounts of hazardous material like my old thermostat, I am totally responsible for the decision to do what is best for the environment. Drive 20 miles or not.

Frustrated and burdened with the responsibility that knowledge brings, I googled on until - - voila! I found the Thermometer Recycling Corporation (TRC). This non-profit organization was formed by Honeywell, White-Rodgers and GE, the three largest thermostat manufacturers, to collect old thermostats and recycle the mercury. The only hitch is that the collection centers are intended for HVAC wholesalers and contractors. I called the TRC helpline at 1-800-238-8192 and a helpful tech rep explained all this to me.

“But,” he said, “I can tell you what contractors in your area have our bins, and you could contact one close to you.”

Well, there you go.

On my way into town this morning, I will go by Gemaire Distributors, only six miles away. They will graciously take my old thermostat into their care for recycling. A beautiful spring day- it’s right on the way. Totally sensible.