Last month, Jack Gray gave a presentation on happiness.
The upshot is that happiness increases with income, but more or less plateaus beyond an annual income of about $20,000. That is, once you've got your basic needs met (food, shelter etc) it makes very little difference to your happiness whether you make $30,000 or $3 million. It's a robust and reliable finding.
It's an interesting public policy thought-starter - what's the point in tax breaks at the top end when the best we could do for the nation is ensure everyone had their basic needs met?
Another interesting nugget was a finding that happiness levels are largely stable throughout one's life. Regardless of whether you win the lottery, become a quadriplegic, or keep ambling along at a steady state, you can expect that you'll revert to your own approximate happiness level. The two exceptions to this are unemployment and mental illness. Again - very interesting for public policy decisions. We're right to be focussed on keeping unemployment down. We're wrong to be lax in how we measure it (if it's a security thing, then a casualised labour force is not a good thing). And we're absolutely wrong to be limiting mental health services at the expense of other things.
In fact key factors in happiness were meaning in life (spiritual, vocational or otherwise) ; doing something (being busy: absorbed) - interesting for increasingly passive leisure time; human / social contacts (at a time when work-life balance is famously impossible to achieve) and keeping up with the Joneses.
This last was a sorry finding. But the speaker made the useful point that keeping up with the Joneses doesn't have to mean a wider plasma screen TV. He called it "non-rival goods" but I didn't like the idea that it had to be goods at all. In a different time, place, context, status was how many grandkids you had, how often you did the flowers for the church, or how good your marrows were. There are many aspects of this status at play in knowledge-based contexts (how up to date you are on Australian Idol; how credible your thoughts on the Bennelong electorate; how convincing your parenting philosophy) but even here many of these follow a path laid down for us by commercial interests (Idol advertisers, opinion leaders, parenting publications).
I can see the utility in replacing non-rival for rival goods. If human nature is competitive, much better for sustainability to compete towards a low-consumption rather than a high-consumption goal. But I also would like to interrogate this feeling I have that the competition itself is somehow less than constructive. That feeling proud we didn't heat the house this winter; or smug that our children eat their crusts is a less than productive use of psychic energy. Maybe one of the reasons is that pride keeps me from communicating it fully (don't wanna brag), and limits my ability to set a different agenda (as a "Jones" that others think of keeping up with). When in reality communicating this stuff could be sharing rather than bragging.
I spoke to an old friend today; he mentioned another friend had been down to visit him, and wanted to go op-shopping because he was compacting, thanks to me. I did a bit of a double take. I know this guy, but mostly at a distance; we've met no more than a handful of times, and yet he has been quietly compacting, thanks to my conversations with his partner many months ago.
At the end of a long, hard, head-aching, mental mettle-breaking week, score one to me.
Friday, 14 September 2007
Thursday, 13 September 2007
germination
THe combination of my urban professional self (financial complexities, lots of paperwork) and my private commitment to reduced domestic footprint (labour intensive, low on escapism like entertainment, TV and retail therapy) make for perhaps the worst of both worlds. I'm far from unique in this, and suspect many working parents (in particular) find themselves in similar binds - working a 10 -12 hour day at the office + commute + coming home and wanting to feed their kids organic homemade food and not plonk them in front of the TV while preparing it.
It's self-imposed and I know many many people do it far tougher, and with less choice. But cracks are showing. I got a bollocking from a friend with triplets the other day for not being \a good friend lately (not calling, inviting etc) and it was absolutely deserved, but I can't fix it. THe reality of my three days at home (three including Saturday and Sunday that is) is all the washing, the shopping, the gardening, the cleaning, the client meetings (J's) the cooking proper meals so we can freeze some for later, the spontaneous crises (my family) the washing up by hand, the household admin (enrol in closer kindys, take E to the doctor, register car) and the pre-planned social commitments, (everyone's, including, increasingly, the kids').
Every time I think it's the last straw and I'm going to lie down and cry, another thing somewhere goes wrong. I thought it couldn't get worse when the power went out and then, R came out in mouth ulcers and spots. We rode bikes up to the pharmacy to get him checked out, and somehow I lost my (work-owned) mobile phone.
So my experiences of hanging at home (especially on my own with the kids) aren't all that relaxing, and I wasn't looking forward to this ten day period when the extended family is away and I took leave to do just that. Tuesday was a novelty. Wednesday was exhausting (as usual ) but today we had a breakthrough that has reinvigorated my sense of my role as a parent.
During dinner after E joked that the food was "disgusterous" (they're having a BFG phase) I told him we don't talk like that about food, and it prompted the hackneyed (but engaging) conversation about children starving in Africa. For the first time, E made the connection that a child we sponsor lived in Africa, and understood that there isn't enough food to go around. He spontaneously decided that he had lots of t-shirts that were too big for him, just right for H and we should send them there. Later, reading "Flat Stanley in Space" aloud to them the same theme came up, with the tiny Tyrrans having run out of food because of an industrial accident, and the Lambchop family discussing the fact that there was enough food for millions of people on earth. R chimed in saying that wasn't true, because H (our sponsored child) lived somewhere there wasn't enough food. They're intelligent kids, but it really awed me to be able to discuss some of these very adult concerns (and things that preoccupy me) with them. And they actually got it, and integrated it, and made sense of what it meant for how they should behave.
I have always known (perhaps because my fmaily was from India) that the root environmental problem is overpopulation. Accidentally conceived twins meant I never fully engaged with the idea that having children is a moral issue until the question (conveniently) became academic (and I became unqualified to take a position). But my post-hoc justification is a hope that raising my children right will mean they contribute to solutions rather than problems. Reducing their footprint as well as my own is a critical start, but not enough. While I think of my kids mostly as a random gift (and know the limitations of parental influence) I hope to lay foundations for the people we'll need tomorrow. So what does this mean in practice? What do I do with my overburdened three-year-olds?
We have rules:
- We don't waste food (a colleague recently pointed out it was just as wasted in your tummy - I can't bring myself to see it that way) and we eat all the skins and crusts and everything and the rest goes to the worms.
- We don't waste stuff - we take care of things so that they'll last longer and / or be able to be passed on to another family.
- We don't buy things just because we want them. To brag a little here, our kids are so good at this one, that we took can take them on a surprise shopping trip to get bikes at Toys R Us and they never, ever even ask for anything during the entire 45 minute visit to the store. At checkout, R's lip trembled a bit as he handed over his green dragon money box to the cashier, but he did it.
Note to parents - don't buy Toys R Us bikes. In our case they weigh more than the kids do. Which makes it hard to ride. Go to a bike shop instead. (Ironic, I know, to give purchase advice in the context of a not-buying rule, but we avoided a car trip because we had bikes today, which is the point)
We have habits of thinking and talking:
- We remind ourselves how lucky we are and recognise that brings a bigger responsibility to others (like giving away extra toys and clothes.)
- We try to yield to the underdog. Smaller kids, sicker brother, someone who hasn't got a bike at home and wants to play on yours at the park.
- We recognise the self-interest in doing "good things" as I think it prompts bigger-picture thinking (though it can be a bit Machiavellian). If you always share your toys, other people will be more likely to share with you. If you get dressed as soon as I ask you to, we might find we have enough time for an extra story at the end of the day.
And we have priorities in terms of what matters to their development:
- Lots of space, room for physical play and exploring.
- Taking responsibility early (though I do feel bad about the moneybox-for-bike-thing, above)
- Exposure to people with similar values (because I know the power of the peer group even at age 3)
All of this of course is in the context of cuddles and tickles and fairy dancing and silly singing and play dough pounding and all kinds of babyhood things. Sometimes though, I really do think I'm way too hard on them. I can fully envisage the adult therapy they'll undergo for utter deprivation by the standards of our time, place and means. But I hope that I'm
giving them a sounder, more authentic, more useful foundation than more Fisher Price and Wiggles ever could.
And let's put this in context. Between them, they have forty-four t-shirts (albeit some, as E pointed out, that are a little too big).
It's self-imposed and I know many many people do it far tougher, and with less choice. But cracks are showing. I got a bollocking from a friend with triplets the other day for not being \a good friend lately (not calling, inviting etc) and it was absolutely deserved, but I can't fix it. THe reality of my three days at home (three including Saturday and Sunday that is) is all the washing, the shopping, the gardening, the cleaning, the client meetings (J's) the cooking proper meals so we can freeze some for later, the spontaneous crises (my family) the washing up by hand, the household admin (enrol in closer kindys, take E to the doctor, register car) and the pre-planned social commitments, (everyone's, including, increasingly, the kids').
Every time I think it's the last straw and I'm going to lie down and cry, another thing somewhere goes wrong. I thought it couldn't get worse when the power went out and then, R came out in mouth ulcers and spots. We rode bikes up to the pharmacy to get him checked out, and somehow I lost my (work-owned) mobile phone.
So my experiences of hanging at home (especially on my own with the kids) aren't all that relaxing, and I wasn't looking forward to this ten day period when the extended family is away and I took leave to do just that. Tuesday was a novelty. Wednesday was exhausting (as usual ) but today we had a breakthrough that has reinvigorated my sense of my role as a parent.
During dinner after E joked that the food was "disgusterous" (they're having a BFG phase) I told him we don't talk like that about food, and it prompted the hackneyed (but engaging) conversation about children starving in Africa. For the first time, E made the connection that a child we sponsor lived in Africa, and understood that there isn't enough food to go around. He spontaneously decided that he had lots of t-shirts that were too big for him, just right for H and we should send them there. Later, reading "Flat Stanley in Space" aloud to them the same theme came up, with the tiny Tyrrans having run out of food because of an industrial accident, and the Lambchop family discussing the fact that there was enough food for millions of people on earth. R chimed in saying that wasn't true, because H (our sponsored child) lived somewhere there wasn't enough food. They're intelligent kids, but it really awed me to be able to discuss some of these very adult concerns (and things that preoccupy me) with them. And they actually got it, and integrated it, and made sense of what it meant for how they should behave.
I have always known (perhaps because my fmaily was from India) that the root environmental problem is overpopulation. Accidentally conceived twins meant I never fully engaged with the idea that having children is a moral issue until the question (conveniently) became academic (and I became unqualified to take a position). But my post-hoc justification is a hope that raising my children right will mean they contribute to solutions rather than problems. Reducing their footprint as well as my own is a critical start, but not enough. While I think of my kids mostly as a random gift (and know the limitations of parental influence) I hope to lay foundations for the people we'll need tomorrow. So what does this mean in practice? What do I do with my overburdened three-year-olds?
We have rules:
- We don't waste food (a colleague recently pointed out it was just as wasted in your tummy - I can't bring myself to see it that way) and we eat all the skins and crusts and everything and the rest goes to the worms.
- We don't waste stuff - we take care of things so that they'll last longer and / or be able to be passed on to another family.
- We don't buy things just because we want them. To brag a little here, our kids are so good at this one, that we took can take them on a surprise shopping trip to get bikes at Toys R Us and they never, ever even ask for anything during the entire 45 minute visit to the store. At checkout, R's lip trembled a bit as he handed over his green dragon money box to the cashier, but he did it.
Note to parents - don't buy Toys R Us bikes. In our case they weigh more than the kids do. Which makes it hard to ride. Go to a bike shop instead. (Ironic, I know, to give purchase advice in the context of a not-buying rule, but we avoided a car trip because we had bikes today, which is the point)
We have habits of thinking and talking:
- We remind ourselves how lucky we are and recognise that brings a bigger responsibility to others (like giving away extra toys and clothes.)
- We try to yield to the underdog. Smaller kids, sicker brother, someone who hasn't got a bike at home and wants to play on yours at the park.
- We recognise the self-interest in doing "good things" as I think it prompts bigger-picture thinking (though it can be a bit Machiavellian). If you always share your toys, other people will be more likely to share with you. If you get dressed as soon as I ask you to, we might find we have enough time for an extra story at the end of the day.
And we have priorities in terms of what matters to their development:
- Lots of space, room for physical play and exploring.
- Taking responsibility early (though I do feel bad about the moneybox-for-bike-thing, above)
- Exposure to people with similar values (because I know the power of the peer group even at age 3)
All of this of course is in the context of cuddles and tickles and fairy dancing and silly singing and play dough pounding and all kinds of babyhood things. Sometimes though, I really do think I'm way too hard on them. I can fully envisage the adult therapy they'll undergo for utter deprivation by the standards of our time, place and means. But I hope that I'm
giving them a sounder, more authentic, more useful foundation than more Fisher Price and Wiggles ever could.
And let's put this in context. Between them, they have forty-four t-shirts (albeit some, as E pointed out, that are a little too big).
Wednesday, 29 August 2007
Companies need consumption
I gave a presentation today about companies increasingly being recognised for their sustainability initiatives. One of the (MBA) students in the audience - which included execs from companies - asked how we get around the fundamental problem that companies need to you to consume and consumption underlies all our problems.
Growth capitalism in my view, is indeed a problematic paradigm. But let's go with a thought experiment - what does it mean not to have growth? In the property or equity markets, it means your house or your superannuation is worth the same today as it is next year or the year after - or (and we're not talking about collapses here) maybe less, cos the paint starts peeling and the kitchen is a year older and more battered. As investments, these things would need to rely on the income they generate (rent or dividends) making them far less subject to speculation.
It also means that savings (eg super savings) wouldn't grow over time, except through the compounding
of interest and other income. You'd retire with much less, and wouldn't have as much to spend through your walking on a beach or red sports car driving twillight years. But then, you might not need as much, because I don't think inflation would eat up part of what you had each year.
We couldn't expect - as a whole - expect to have a bettter standard of living in the future than we do today, although individuals or families or groups may do better or worse relative to others over time.
Inflation is the only reason I can think of that economic gfrowth serves any useful purpose in an already - affluent society and inflation is caused by demand exceeding supply. Demand only exceeds supply because a) we insist on overpopulation in order to prop up growth (witness the "need" for immigration and fertility rhetoric of the current Federal government and b) because it is the target of the whole marketing, advertising and sales industries.
In fact (and I'm not an economist) I'm not really sure why the goal for an affluent country is economic growth at all.
Leaving growth aside, let's return to the question of companies and what they need. They don't need us to buy goods, they just need us to give them our money. My first answer to this is that a large proportion of companies in our economy are service companies. They don't sell us widgets, but banking services, telephone services or insurance.
My second point was that even among the companies where you hand over some money and walk away with a physical good, it is rarely (for the company) the good that is the point. They derive their value from being able to meet a need - and if they were smart about it, they could use fewer resources to meet the same need. To use an old chestnut, I've never desired to own a fridge or a hot water tank - I just want cold milk and hot showers. I don't want a car - I just want something on call that gets me, the kids and the shopping from A to B (carshare anyone?). And I don't want cardboard boxes (let alone plastic packaging) - I just want robust items that won't break easily.
I'm far from the first person to note this, but a radical rethinking of what a company delivers can really shape a successful future. Old ways of thinking, inherited from when resources were plentiful, cash was hard to come by and transaction costs were high (info was scarce, comparisons difficult, etc) are no longer appropriate. I don't want a new damn mobile phone. I want someone else to take my clients' calls after hours. I don't want to own lightbulbs, stereos, whitegoods, computers or anything else really. I'm certainly not paying for the resource consumed when I have to buy any of this stuff - I'm paying for a sound reputation for reliability, a decent warranty and maybe some service guarantees (like a helpline). If a company can figure out how to meet my need while using less of the resources to do it - I'm all for it.
I don't have many readers here, in fact I think I pretty much know you all by (user) name but I know you guys are pretty smart with this stuff. What don't you want that you currently have no option but to buy
Growth capitalism in my view, is indeed a problematic paradigm. But let's go with a thought experiment - what does it mean not to have growth? In the property or equity markets, it means your house or your superannuation is worth the same today as it is next year or the year after - or (and we're not talking about collapses here) maybe less, cos the paint starts peeling and the kitchen is a year older and more battered. As investments, these things would need to rely on the income they generate (rent or dividends) making them far less subject to speculation.
It also means that savings (eg super savings) wouldn't grow over time, except through the compounding
of interest and other income. You'd retire with much less, and wouldn't have as much to spend through your walking on a beach or red sports car driving twillight years. But then, you might not need as much, because I don't think inflation would eat up part of what you had each year.
We couldn't expect - as a whole - expect to have a bettter standard of living in the future than we do today, although individuals or families or groups may do better or worse relative to others over time.
Inflation is the only reason I can think of that economic gfrowth serves any useful purpose in an already - affluent society and inflation is caused by demand exceeding supply. Demand only exceeds supply because a) we insist on overpopulation in order to prop up growth (witness the "need" for immigration and fertility rhetoric of the current Federal government and b) because it is the target of the whole marketing, advertising and sales industries.
In fact (and I'm not an economist) I'm not really sure why the goal for an affluent country is economic growth at all.
Leaving growth aside, let's return to the question of companies and what they need. They don't need us to buy goods, they just need us to give them our money. My first answer to this is that a large proportion of companies in our economy are service companies. They don't sell us widgets, but banking services, telephone services or insurance.
My second point was that even among the companies where you hand over some money and walk away with a physical good, it is rarely (for the company) the good that is the point. They derive their value from being able to meet a need - and if they were smart about it, they could use fewer resources to meet the same need. To use an old chestnut, I've never desired to own a fridge or a hot water tank - I just want cold milk and hot showers. I don't want a car - I just want something on call that gets me, the kids and the shopping from A to B (carshare anyone?). And I don't want cardboard boxes (let alone plastic packaging) - I just want robust items that won't break easily.
I'm far from the first person to note this, but a radical rethinking of what a company delivers can really shape a successful future. Old ways of thinking, inherited from when resources were plentiful, cash was hard to come by and transaction costs were high (info was scarce, comparisons difficult, etc) are no longer appropriate. I don't want a new damn mobile phone. I want someone else to take my clients' calls after hours. I don't want to own lightbulbs, stereos, whitegoods, computers or anything else really. I'm certainly not paying for the resource consumed when I have to buy any of this stuff - I'm paying for a sound reputation for reliability, a decent warranty and maybe some service guarantees (like a helpline). If a company can figure out how to meet my need while using less of the resources to do it - I'm all for it.
I don't have many readers here, in fact I think I pretty much know you all by (user) name but I know you guys are pretty smart with this stuff. What don't you want that you currently have no option but to buy
reader invitation required
Hmmm. More than a month since my last post. What's been going on?
I've been working hard at work and harder at home with all the usual attempts to replace energy (fossil fuelled) with labour (mine). Whinge moan.
I've bought a bike - actually four bikes though none of them second hand. I really need to lose a car now to make up for that.
I've got a whole lot of seeds, and some big pots and soil, and will spend Friday afternoon planting with the kids. We're having roaring success with the rocket and the sprouts but possum-trouble with the silverbeet (at least I think it's a possum. Any tips out there on possums? would a scarecrow work?).
We're through the winter and have not heated the house (hooray for summer!) I've knitted a scarf and am learning to crochet (surprisingly therapeutic). I've met and befriended further neighbours and got my in-laws to worm farm. I've preserved some lemons and made bread and yoghurt. It's certainly a capacity building exercise at the moment. We had someone come and replace all our bulbs with compact fluoros.
Perhaps the success I feel proudest of is increasingly integrating my values into my social world. I feel more an integrated whole. For a long time, there was an emperors new clothes sort of feeling about my work and my values - where there was no common ground. Then I got a job in the field and there was an emperors new clothes feeling about my work and values on one hand; and my social world on the other. I'm managing to bring the two together.
But I have not been blogging the experience (though that was never the point) and while I continue to enjoy my favourite bloggers, I'm not sure I'm really cut out for it.
I think it shows a distinct lack of capability or commitment or something for instance to go more than a month without a post.
So here's the thing. I think maybe there's enough of a groundswell that I could join in a shared blog community. Will anyone have me as a guest? or join me in a new collaborative effort?
I've been working hard at work and harder at home with all the usual attempts to replace energy (fossil fuelled) with labour (mine). Whinge moan.
I've bought a bike - actually four bikes though none of them second hand. I really need to lose a car now to make up for that.
I've got a whole lot of seeds, and some big pots and soil, and will spend Friday afternoon planting with the kids. We're having roaring success with the rocket and the sprouts but possum-trouble with the silverbeet (at least I think it's a possum. Any tips out there on possums? would a scarecrow work?).
We're through the winter and have not heated the house (hooray for summer!) I've knitted a scarf and am learning to crochet (surprisingly therapeutic). I've met and befriended further neighbours and got my in-laws to worm farm. I've preserved some lemons and made bread and yoghurt. It's certainly a capacity building exercise at the moment. We had someone come and replace all our bulbs with compact fluoros.
Perhaps the success I feel proudest of is increasingly integrating my values into my social world. I feel more an integrated whole. For a long time, there was an emperors new clothes sort of feeling about my work and my values - where there was no common ground. Then I got a job in the field and there was an emperors new clothes feeling about my work and values on one hand; and my social world on the other. I'm managing to bring the two together.
But I have not been blogging the experience (though that was never the point) and while I continue to enjoy my favourite bloggers, I'm not sure I'm really cut out for it.
I think it shows a distinct lack of capability or commitment or something for instance to go more than a month without a post.
So here's the thing. I think maybe there's enough of a groundswell that I could join in a shared blog community. Will anyone have me as a guest? or join me in a new collaborative effort?
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Clear-eyed stock-take
The lovely Bryan wondered whether my silverbeet was dying. It isn't. And though my last post (gee, it's getting a long time between posts) was despairing, it wasn't to do with failing on my small domestic front.
The pep talk to self:
We've still not bought a heater, and I've not turned on the one we've got - including last week when temperatures dropped to an icy 3 degrees Celsius in Sydney.
I've still not had a backlash on compacting, and in fact I think I may have a few new subscribers to the experiment after some friendly campaigning at a kid's party recently.
I've targeted my two converts and have made serious inroads into their consumption and footprint patterns, though they're not yet ready to commit to anything.
I knitted a scarf, planted seeds, made stock, (all largely symbolic rather than meaningful).
But really it's the bigger picture that occupies my imaginings. And reading Capitalism 3.0 gave me some very good ideas abouts what wrong with the world and how we might go about fixing it (a recommended read! ) http://onthecommons.org/node/680
The pep talk to self:
We've still not bought a heater, and I've not turned on the one we've got - including last week when temperatures dropped to an icy 3 degrees Celsius in Sydney.
I've still not had a backlash on compacting, and in fact I think I may have a few new subscribers to the experiment after some friendly campaigning at a kid's party recently.
I've targeted my two converts and have made serious inroads into their consumption and footprint patterns, though they're not yet ready to commit to anything.
I knitted a scarf, planted seeds, made stock, (all largely symbolic rather than meaningful).
But really it's the bigger picture that occupies my imaginings. And reading Capitalism 3.0 gave me some very good ideas abouts what wrong with the world and how we might go about fixing it (a recommended read! ) http://onthecommons.org/node/680
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
Be the change / be the clock
My partner, trying to teach the tots about clockwise and anticlockwise, gets annoyed with me when, trying to join in, I get confused about whether I'm supposed to "be the clock" or "mirror the clock".
Being the change I want to see in the world (and I'm not, by a long way) has had me wrapped up for a long time, but I'm getting confused as to whether that's really where I should be.
I want to know my kids, and the whole of humanity, have a future and my motives range from the personal and selfish to the intellectual and abstract.
On the intellectual front, I want to know that our great achievements were not for nothing. That our music and art and philosophical breakthroughs and great novels will be there and will be enjoyed by someone like me in the very distant future. My babies are my proxy for all that, I think of them sometimes as the first chain in a link to a distant time.
On the personal front though, I am starting to think of them and even myself as victims of our time. The ones who inherited a world that was too late to save. And this makes me really scared.
And a victim mentality isn't good.
It doesn't make me want to be the change or save the world. It makes me want to protect myself and my kids from it with all the might of a last ditch overweight footprint. Buy and hoard stuff we might need in difficult years. Avoid sharing the message so I don't create competing demand for stuff I might need to keep us on top of things. Quit my save the world job and go back to work in my higher-paying former career so that I can cushion us all against the inevitable future financial downturn.
It's a panicked, knee-jerk, out-of-control sort of feeling. And I wonder how much of the consumption culture we see is other people - not disengaged from the bigger picture of a devastated biosphere and a decimated social fabric, but rather attempting to fiddle while they know Rome burns. If the glaciers are going anyway, let there at least be some singing and shopping.
I'm trying to keep a lid on this feeling, but it's really an effort of will at the moment - which may signal impending madness - which is a very real possibility given my genes. But I think too exploring the idea offers a useful insight into the link between disempowerment and selfishness / self-preservation and credit being the opiate of the masses and a window into how to galvanise wider change.
Or something.
Being the change I want to see in the world (and I'm not, by a long way) has had me wrapped up for a long time, but I'm getting confused as to whether that's really where I should be.
I want to know my kids, and the whole of humanity, have a future and my motives range from the personal and selfish to the intellectual and abstract.
On the intellectual front, I want to know that our great achievements were not for nothing. That our music and art and philosophical breakthroughs and great novels will be there and will be enjoyed by someone like me in the very distant future. My babies are my proxy for all that, I think of them sometimes as the first chain in a link to a distant time.
On the personal front though, I am starting to think of them and even myself as victims of our time. The ones who inherited a world that was too late to save. And this makes me really scared.
And a victim mentality isn't good.
It doesn't make me want to be the change or save the world. It makes me want to protect myself and my kids from it with all the might of a last ditch overweight footprint. Buy and hoard stuff we might need in difficult years. Avoid sharing the message so I don't create competing demand for stuff I might need to keep us on top of things. Quit my save the world job and go back to work in my higher-paying former career so that I can cushion us all against the inevitable future financial downturn.
It's a panicked, knee-jerk, out-of-control sort of feeling. And I wonder how much of the consumption culture we see is other people - not disengaged from the bigger picture of a devastated biosphere and a decimated social fabric, but rather attempting to fiddle while they know Rome burns. If the glaciers are going anyway, let there at least be some singing and shopping.
I'm trying to keep a lid on this feeling, but it's really an effort of will at the moment - which may signal impending madness - which is a very real possibility given my genes. But I think too exploring the idea offers a useful insight into the link between disempowerment and selfishness / self-preservation and credit being the opiate of the masses and a window into how to galvanise wider change.
Or something.
Monday, 2 July 2007
50% down - an update
These entries are a wee bit out of order, what with diarising offline and then not being able to get those entries from computer A at home to computer B on the net. So anyway, you've so far been spared the whinge about the cold, the extra effort, the rain and all that. But I will paste it in
How's it going? (asked the lovely, encouraging Brian). The answer is I really don't know. Over the weekend, (a long weekend for me) I spent the most serious amount of time in the garden cutting weeds. Like all day. I don't know if cutting weeds is the right thing to do, but figured I couldn't leave it all there, with the berries all ripe and ready to drop and turn into new weeds just where I want to be able to plant my vegies. All this in preparation for the vegie patch, which has yet to be approved by the landlady. Which brings me to a very interesting quandry.
We have always, until now, been homeowners. If we wanted to put in a skylight, install gas or a composting toilet, we just did it (OK - not quite. None of these examples were options in the apartment). Whereas now, none of those things are within our jurisdiction, which brings up the very interesting issue of perverse incentives. Why should a landlord put in instant gas hot water to replace the electric storage heater - when it's the tenant that will benefit from the lower bills? In theory, that kind of thing should be reflected in higher rents for the better amenity. In practice, people just don't do that kind of math when comparing properties to rent.
Fortunately, our landlady is lovely, and her son (the decision maker) seems quite environmentally-minded. I think what I need to do is to pioneer some kind of written agreement that says we give them 15% of our energy bill every quarter (or whatever it is we would save) as a payback for the improvement. If we don't get to stay a decade, we haven't subsidised their capital improvement. On the other hand, they aren't stuck with the bill for someone else's reduction. Looking forward to some spreadsheeting on this one to work it all out.
I think, if I'm honest, things are not going well. We're back to disposable nappies at night and have bought serious warm clothes (new). Wet bedding is a disaster in the cold and impossible to launder in the rain. It has really made me appreciate a generation (many generations) of (mainly) women whose babies had no option but cloth, rain or shine, in colder, wetter, climates than this. It's no wonder they toilet trained them so young.
I am currently losing a battle about a heater (although even the language my husband is using suggests to me we've made significant progress) but I've found myself boiling and reboiling water for hot water bottles, microwaving wheat packs and deep-bathing the children to warm things up - none of which, I'm sure, is much of an improvement on heating the house. On the upside, I've planted seeds, fed a sick neighbour and 90% convinced a friend, KB, to take the 50% down journey with me. I suspect she'd been secretly compacting since hearing of it some months ago, but she purchased flanelette sheets instead of an electric blanket the other day - breaking the compact in order to save on energy.
In practice, I'm still working towards getting the internet on at home, sorting out the phone, unpacking the boxes and keeping all the balls in the air.
So if I'm honest, it's not going all that well.
How's it going? (asked the lovely, encouraging Brian). The answer is I really don't know. Over the weekend, (a long weekend for me) I spent the most serious amount of time in the garden cutting weeds. Like all day. I don't know if cutting weeds is the right thing to do, but figured I couldn't leave it all there, with the berries all ripe and ready to drop and turn into new weeds just where I want to be able to plant my vegies. All this in preparation for the vegie patch, which has yet to be approved by the landlady. Which brings me to a very interesting quandry.
We have always, until now, been homeowners. If we wanted to put in a skylight, install gas or a composting toilet, we just did it (OK - not quite. None of these examples were options in the apartment). Whereas now, none of those things are within our jurisdiction, which brings up the very interesting issue of perverse incentives. Why should a landlord put in instant gas hot water to replace the electric storage heater - when it's the tenant that will benefit from the lower bills? In theory, that kind of thing should be reflected in higher rents for the better amenity. In practice, people just don't do that kind of math when comparing properties to rent.
Fortunately, our landlady is lovely, and her son (the decision maker) seems quite environmentally-minded. I think what I need to do is to pioneer some kind of written agreement that says we give them 15% of our energy bill every quarter (or whatever it is we would save) as a payback for the improvement. If we don't get to stay a decade, we haven't subsidised their capital improvement. On the other hand, they aren't stuck with the bill for someone else's reduction. Looking forward to some spreadsheeting on this one to work it all out.
I think, if I'm honest, things are not going well. We're back to disposable nappies at night and have bought serious warm clothes (new). Wet bedding is a disaster in the cold and impossible to launder in the rain. It has really made me appreciate a generation (many generations) of (mainly) women whose babies had no option but cloth, rain or shine, in colder, wetter, climates than this. It's no wonder they toilet trained them so young.
I am currently losing a battle about a heater (although even the language my husband is using suggests to me we've made significant progress) but I've found myself boiling and reboiling water for hot water bottles, microwaving wheat packs and deep-bathing the children to warm things up - none of which, I'm sure, is much of an improvement on heating the house. On the upside, I've planted seeds, fed a sick neighbour and 90% convinced a friend, KB, to take the 50% down journey with me. I suspect she'd been secretly compacting since hearing of it some months ago, but she purchased flanelette sheets instead of an electric blanket the other day - breaking the compact in order to save on energy.
In practice, I'm still working towards getting the internet on at home, sorting out the phone, unpacking the boxes and keeping all the balls in the air.
So if I'm honest, it's not going all that well.
Thursday, 28 June 2007
Internet versus silverbeet
It's been a while since I've posted, what with illness and moving and not having a net connection set up at the new house. I'm pretty amused by the helpline for our internet service provider, whose recorded message repeats, deadpan that I need to send an email to such and such if I want service (well...that's pretty hard without internet service...;)
Work is crazy, we're selling our old place (I think) and I'm having to deliberately pace myself to prevent a repeat of last week when I was close to shutting down. Most of the time, I recognise I'm juggling, and most of the time, I feel the costs are worth the benefits. But not recently.
My partner wants a heater. Actually, we have an old column heater that sat in storage throughout our habitation at the old place, and that he now has next to his legs by the study desk. The rest of the house is purely, airly, frigidly unheated. I've made a few purchases to "fund" this reduction - thermals, polar fleece, kids' slippers, hot water bottles; and feel that to buy a heater now would be a lose-lose on this front.
When I remember the carefree life in our sunny apartment with such pleasure I could almost cry. Where in July, one could answer the phone and make breakfast and hang out the laundry all while dripping from the shower and deciding what to wear. Splash footprints all over the bathroom and corridors, knowing they'd be dry an instant later. Let the kids get their clothes wet and run around nude.
*sigh*.
The trade-off isn't particularly competitive at the moment - without a fine day to spend in the garden. On the other hand, this kind of weather is an aberration for Sydney. If I can get through it, I can probably get through anything.
So he (of heater fame) asked the question as part of the discussion "why should we be uncomfortable? It's not as if things aren't hard enough" by which he meant the myriad pressures of all the *stuff* going on in our lives.
And here are the million answers I didn't give.
Because being a bit too cold to sprawl for a DVD on the sofa is for most people on the planet unimaginably comfortable. Because having to go full-bellied into a warm dry bed a bit early for the winter months is a luxury available to an elite few (and might even do us good). Because buying polypropylene long johns to wear at home marks us by world standards as the obscenely wealthy ones. Because the cold hasn't affected our health, our kids, or our ability to earn a living (unlike the consequences for other people, somewhere else). Because if we won't do this - who will?
It concerns me that (partly as a function of the *stuff* I mentioned) I haven't brought him along on the journey enough. Of course I want a warm house. I just don't want to contribute to the warming that means my reduced future food security for my kids.
He's prepared for some trade-offs. He proposed that we get a new heater but replace our two cars with an electric car. That we switch off the fridge (that's one that actually might work in our cold house). That we only allow ourselves to switch it on when it's (a) completely dark and (b) before bedtime (ie between 7 and 10 at night). But I feel it's a slippery slope. Especially as we'd be BUYING it...
But the real title of the entry is internet and silverbeet. I'm finding myself with a lot of time on my hands without the internet on at home. But I'm also feeling utterly isolated from the learning I need to do outside work hours. I've got silverbeet seeds (the only ones labelled plantable in winter) and I'm itching to get started. I know no-one with experience in growing food and I need some help / source material / tips!
Work is crazy, we're selling our old place (I think) and I'm having to deliberately pace myself to prevent a repeat of last week when I was close to shutting down. Most of the time, I recognise I'm juggling, and most of the time, I feel the costs are worth the benefits. But not recently.
My partner wants a heater. Actually, we have an old column heater that sat in storage throughout our habitation at the old place, and that he now has next to his legs by the study desk. The rest of the house is purely, airly, frigidly unheated. I've made a few purchases to "fund" this reduction - thermals, polar fleece, kids' slippers, hot water bottles; and feel that to buy a heater now would be a lose-lose on this front.
When I remember the carefree life in our sunny apartment with such pleasure I could almost cry. Where in July, one could answer the phone and make breakfast and hang out the laundry all while dripping from the shower and deciding what to wear. Splash footprints all over the bathroom and corridors, knowing they'd be dry an instant later. Let the kids get their clothes wet and run around nude.
*sigh*.
The trade-off isn't particularly competitive at the moment - without a fine day to spend in the garden. On the other hand, this kind of weather is an aberration for Sydney. If I can get through it, I can probably get through anything.
So he (of heater fame) asked the question as part of the discussion "why should we be uncomfortable? It's not as if things aren't hard enough" by which he meant the myriad pressures of all the *stuff* going on in our lives.
And here are the million answers I didn't give.
Because being a bit too cold to sprawl for a DVD on the sofa is for most people on the planet unimaginably comfortable. Because having to go full-bellied into a warm dry bed a bit early for the winter months is a luxury available to an elite few (and might even do us good). Because buying polypropylene long johns to wear at home marks us by world standards as the obscenely wealthy ones. Because the cold hasn't affected our health, our kids, or our ability to earn a living (unlike the consequences for other people, somewhere else). Because if we won't do this - who will?
It concerns me that (partly as a function of the *stuff* I mentioned) I haven't brought him along on the journey enough. Of course I want a warm house. I just don't want to contribute to the warming that means my reduced future food security for my kids.
He's prepared for some trade-offs. He proposed that we get a new heater but replace our two cars with an electric car. That we switch off the fridge (that's one that actually might work in our cold house). That we only allow ourselves to switch it on when it's (a) completely dark and (b) before bedtime (ie between 7 and 10 at night). But I feel it's a slippery slope. Especially as we'd be BUYING it...
But the real title of the entry is internet and silverbeet. I'm finding myself with a lot of time on my hands without the internet on at home. But I'm also feeling utterly isolated from the learning I need to do outside work hours. I've got silverbeet seeds (the only ones labelled plantable in winter) and I'm itching to get started. I know no-one with experience in growing food and I need some help / source material / tips!
Thursday, 7 June 2007
Moving musings
I tell you what, moving house is a salutary experience. This will be my 8th abode in 11 years, so we have downsized significantly and repeatedly. But there's still just so much STUFF!
In Don Delillo's (sp?) book White Noise I remember him doing these fantastic lists of what the main character threw out when cleaning out their attic. We've never been big buyers or hoarders (never had the inclination, never had the room) but the stuff of ordinary life is well...excessive.
I've filled five full boxes of books so far (and I haven't even started). Several large bags of outgrown kids' clothes and toys have already gone to friends. I counted 17 moisturisers a few weeks ago, cleaning out the bathroom cupboard.
The thing I'd really love to lose though is the paper. The receipts and bills and statements and letters and invoices and contracts and instructions and advices that constitute the mental confines of a modern adult life.
In Don Delillo's (sp?) book White Noise I remember him doing these fantastic lists of what the main character threw out when cleaning out their attic. We've never been big buyers or hoarders (never had the inclination, never had the room) but the stuff of ordinary life is well...excessive.
I've filled five full boxes of books so far (and I haven't even started). Several large bags of outgrown kids' clothes and toys have already gone to friends. I counted 17 moisturisers a few weeks ago, cleaning out the bathroom cupboard.
The thing I'd really love to lose though is the paper. The receipts and bills and statements and letters and invoices and contracts and instructions and advices that constitute the mental confines of a modern adult life.
Musings on brand
Having been a second-hand-only (almost) buyer for some months now, I'm starting to understand a few things about brands and how they evolved into such powerful beasts.
Because when I search on eBay, there's little to distinguish wool jumpers - other than the brand. If new, I can judge by the price (though not reliably) whether this wool will be scratchy, or that one wearable next to the skin. But second hand pricing isn't a reliable indicator yet so I find myself judging quality by brand.
This is a very different kind of thing to the "brand" as understood by the big company I last worked for. That was all tied up in advertising, the fonts used, the colours, style and tone. It was about a promise. My ebay brand-reliance is about experience. I know from long years of real and window shopping that XXXXXX suits are well-cut, quality fabrics, and wear well over time. That XXXXX kitchen stuff is indestructible and my grandkids will inherit it intact.
Those kinds of values are worth encouraging in an industrial economy. If I have to buy anything (and that's up for debate) then let it be something worthy of the resources that went into its making. Something durable and beautiful.
An interesting observation for me is that quality isn't always more expensive, even if you only count the initial cost.
Maybe advertising is about trying to convince you (subtlely, prematurely) that you already know a given brand will deliver. (well duh I suppose)
I trust only my own experience these days.
Because when I search on eBay, there's little to distinguish wool jumpers - other than the brand. If new, I can judge by the price (though not reliably) whether this wool will be scratchy, or that one wearable next to the skin. But second hand pricing isn't a reliable indicator yet so I find myself judging quality by brand.
This is a very different kind of thing to the "brand" as understood by the big company I last worked for. That was all tied up in advertising, the fonts used, the colours, style and tone. It was about a promise. My ebay brand-reliance is about experience. I know from long years of real and window shopping that XXXXXX suits are well-cut, quality fabrics, and wear well over time. That XXXXX kitchen stuff is indestructible and my grandkids will inherit it intact.
Those kinds of values are worth encouraging in an industrial economy. If I have to buy anything (and that's up for debate) then let it be something worthy of the resources that went into its making. Something durable and beautiful.
An interesting observation for me is that quality isn't always more expensive, even if you only count the initial cost.
Maybe advertising is about trying to convince you (subtlely, prematurely) that you already know a given brand will deliver. (well duh I suppose)
I trust only my own experience these days.
Monday, 4 June 2007
Immersion insights
We moved offices and my route to work now takes me through several retail precincts instead of just a food court. So I bought something. I did genuinely need tops (whatever that means) and had been scouting Ebay for some months for them (without success) but needless to say, when the time came, it felt like an impulse purchase (fashion chain, multinational). Nor did I beg friends, search op shops or attempt to fashion them out of fabric already in the house.
I thought I was doing really well, I even stuck to the compact on birthday presents for small children, but surrounded by acres of fabrics and dazzling colours, after mere days I succumbed. It's salutary, because I thought I was above being sucked in by marketing, but really I was just not exposed to marketing as much which is a-whole-nother thing.
As a penance (can you tell I was raised Catholic?) I'm going to list here the craziest advertised products in one of my favourite magazines - The New Yorker. There are no doubt bigger ticket products advertised therein, but it's not clear to me whether or not the product is ridiculous as I'm not familiar with the brand, object or pricetag.
- Personalized crystal bowls for Special Occasions
- Boat shoes with 18k gold plated eyelets
- Family crest signet rings
- Bronze sculpture of your fingerprint
- Handbags in the shape of fish
Strange that a rag pitched to a left wing, educated demographic, with some of the most intelligent, insightful articles I've ever seen considers its audience susceptible to such product-flog. When we got our first issues, my partner and I literally couldn't work out whether some of the advertising was part of an elaborate editorial joke. We had not anticipated that US / OZ cultural differences could be so divergent. Still more worrying when I (after 100 issues) started to idly muse on whether it would not be tres amusant to have a handbag in the shape of a fish. For context, I have bought three handbags (in 18 years), and never owned more than one at a time. One was for a job interview, one a wedding at which I was best woman and one other for work (which I never use). All three were plain black and the combined total price is A$100 (unadjusted). Philospohically, I regard handbags a good way to disable a limb (as opposed to a backpack - a useful means to transport things) and in this way, a close relative of high heels. Anyway, I considered the fish bag.
It goes to show, IMO, how susceptible we are to ambient [marketing] messages. We make choices we think position us as ?superior [not sure that's what I mean] to something else never realising the apparent continuum is only a fraction of the whole. On further interrogation,
- "the fish bag's cute but who on earth would buy the bronze fingerprint"
becomes
- "all of these are just crazy status symbols - but I could use this discounted bakeware at Coles"
could become
- "how could I replace my roasting tray second hand?"
could become
- "we should avoid roasting cos it's an energy intensive cooking method"
could become
- "we should eat less."
I'm not saying everything should be taken that far. (Nor am I saying that it shouldn't). It's just that the personas we create for ourselves, our understanding of who we are, what we regard as virtuous is heavily grounded in ambient "messaging." My neighbour regards herself as environmentally virtuous for recycling her newspapers (though she can't be bothered with plastic, glass or cans) because her neighbour doesn't. 90%ers are attempting to get down to 10% of US average and feel the need to explain why they're not attempting 7%. I'm somewhere between the two.
But I understand now that I have a new responsibility, which is to seek out and make myself a part of a world, a community, "ambient messaging" that is more "virtuous" than what I'm leaving behind. And in turn to be that context / community for others. No more thinking I'm radical for selling an apartment to rent a garden. No more feeling superior about washing nappies and vermicomposting. Normality (as it would seem to be defined by popular culture) is no longer my benchmark - not even as a point of departure. It makes it look like you've come "1000 whole millimetres!!!" when it's only the first of a thousand necessary strides.
So here's my tips (they're not rocket science)
- avoid shopping centres, commercial TV and women's magazines.
- adopt an amused / critical mental posture when reading most mainstream publications or commercial current affairs
- get familiar with people (really and virtually) who are where you'd like to go
- be the normal for other people. Be loud about how you live so that our voices counterbalance the ambient consumerism. I find this one particularly hard, but I'm realising how important it is.
I'm glad to say the fish handbag remains tres amusant - as an idea that never need be acted on but rather blogged about. The tops I bought are sitting guiltily in their bag, receipt within, in case I can return them.
I thought I was doing really well, I even stuck to the compact on birthday presents for small children, but surrounded by acres of fabrics and dazzling colours, after mere days I succumbed. It's salutary, because I thought I was above being sucked in by marketing, but really I was just not exposed to marketing as much which is a-whole-nother thing.
As a penance (can you tell I was raised Catholic?) I'm going to list here the craziest advertised products in one of my favourite magazines - The New Yorker. There are no doubt bigger ticket products advertised therein, but it's not clear to me whether or not the product is ridiculous as I'm not familiar with the brand, object or pricetag.
- Personalized crystal bowls for Special Occasions
- Boat shoes with 18k gold plated eyelets
- Family crest signet rings
- Bronze sculpture of your fingerprint
- Handbags in the shape of fish
Strange that a rag pitched to a left wing, educated demographic, with some of the most intelligent, insightful articles I've ever seen considers its audience susceptible to such product-flog. When we got our first issues, my partner and I literally couldn't work out whether some of the advertising was part of an elaborate editorial joke. We had not anticipated that US / OZ cultural differences could be so divergent. Still more worrying when I (after 100 issues) started to idly muse on whether it would not be tres amusant to have a handbag in the shape of a fish. For context, I have bought three handbags (in 18 years), and never owned more than one at a time. One was for a job interview, one a wedding at which I was best woman and one other for work (which I never use). All three were plain black and the combined total price is A$100 (unadjusted). Philospohically, I regard handbags a good way to disable a limb (as opposed to a backpack - a useful means to transport things) and in this way, a close relative of high heels. Anyway, I considered the fish bag.
It goes to show, IMO, how susceptible we are to ambient [marketing] messages. We make choices we think position us as ?superior [not sure that's what I mean] to something else never realising the apparent continuum is only a fraction of the whole. On further interrogation,
- "the fish bag's cute but who on earth would buy the bronze fingerprint"
becomes
- "all of these are just crazy status symbols - but I could use this discounted bakeware at Coles"
could become
- "how could I replace my roasting tray second hand?"
could become
- "we should avoid roasting cos it's an energy intensive cooking method"
could become
- "we should eat less."
I'm not saying everything should be taken that far. (Nor am I saying that it shouldn't). It's just that the personas we create for ourselves, our understanding of who we are, what we regard as virtuous is heavily grounded in ambient "messaging." My neighbour regards herself as environmentally virtuous for recycling her newspapers (though she can't be bothered with plastic, glass or cans) because her neighbour doesn't. 90%ers are attempting to get down to 10% of US average and feel the need to explain why they're not attempting 7%. I'm somewhere between the two.
But I understand now that I have a new responsibility, which is to seek out and make myself a part of a world, a community, "ambient messaging" that is more "virtuous" than what I'm leaving behind. And in turn to be that context / community for others. No more thinking I'm radical for selling an apartment to rent a garden. No more feeling superior about washing nappies and vermicomposting. Normality (as it would seem to be defined by popular culture) is no longer my benchmark - not even as a point of departure. It makes it look like you've come "1000 whole millimetres!!!" when it's only the first of a thousand necessary strides.
So here's my tips (they're not rocket science)
- avoid shopping centres, commercial TV and women's magazines.
- adopt an amused / critical mental posture when reading most mainstream publications or commercial current affairs
- get familiar with people (really and virtually) who are where you'd like to go
- be the normal for other people. Be loud about how you live so that our voices counterbalance the ambient consumerism. I find this one particularly hard, but I'm realising how important it is.
I'm glad to say the fish handbag remains tres amusant - as an idea that never need be acted on but rather blogged about. The tops I bought are sitting guiltily in their bag, receipt within, in case I can return them.
Chunky, challenging, change.
A very brief history of my attempts at 90%.
I started out trying to get in touch with www.acfonline.org to see if their footprint calculator could be updated to fit the 90% reduction parameters discussed at Casaubon’s Book. Inflation (particularly for food) means even a couple of years can give a distorted picture. No reply after a couple of weeks. Busy working on their own save-the-planet projects, I guess.
Then I tried seeing if I could modify the underlying data (the spreadsheet behind the calculator is at http://www.isa.org.usyd.edu.au/. So I sat down and gave some serious thought to what was really going on here, and what was actually achievable and what was really necessary instead of just a “me too”.
For the benefit of anyone else who’d like alternative ways to approach this very worthy project, here’s my plan.
Premise 1: Targets and benchmarks are good. The main problem with this one is that it’s proving quite difficult to find Australian benchmarks – particularly ones that are clear about exactly what is being counted. The ISA spreadsheet behind the ACF calculator is probably the best I’ve found, being integrated (and thereby factoring in the water used to generate the energy you use and vice versa and etcetera) but it includes 1.0 hectares automatically (out of a total average 7.0) for government services and defence. True enough (I benefit from the infrastructure that’s paid for by the taxes paid by coal mining companies who export carbon emissions to China) but that 1.0 ha is already more than a 90% reduction would allow – even if I never ate, drank, purchased, consumed, or disposed of anything else. I lose before I even begin, which is a recipe for doomerism.
Premise 2: While the 90%ers note the importance of being able to show governments and others (through critical mass) that these significant reductions are achievable, Here in largely-coal-fired Oz we’re in an earlier stage of the movement - in fact, I'm not sure there really is a Peak Oil movement yet. And we KNOW our government isn't listening. I think we need to build the groundswell before we can develop community solutions.
I believe the best thing for me to do is make change that’s radical enough to get people talking, (to galvanise others into action) but not so radical they talk without being tempted to see if they can do it too. 90% for me is discouraging. The truly irritating thing about Sharon at Casaubon’s Book is how precisely she defeats my intellectual rationalising before I even formulate it(the most recent being my very important job blah blah which I couldn’t give up blah blah because it actually helps the environment etcetera blah).
Mostly, I think what we need now are more people, discussing what this means in an Australian context, and harnessing wider people power for the job of paving the way for acceptance of greater change.
As readers may have realised I’m still in the closet on lots of this stuff. I work in a suit, in the city and fly interstate for work once a month. The mums at my local kindy have expressed (outward) admiration for the healthful contents of my kids' lunchboxes, but one recently confessed to my partner that they think the kids are deprived on that basis. My nearest farmers’ market is a drive away (and no farmer is “local” to Sydney’s eastern suburbs). My water bill is identical quarter after quarter regardless of how much we use (they don’t bother working out usage in our apartment block). And a pot of basil on the kitchen bench is doing quite nicely, but not making inroads into feeding our family local foods. I'm up against some very pedestrian challenges, like many ordinary concerned people. I’d like to think that my audience is others like me (you know who you are!) in suits, cities, suburbs, and our school community and I'd like to show that chunky changes are possible. Easy even. This movement has to BE mainstream after all.
So in case you’re still with me, here’s my plan. Please feel free to comment, suggest, argue, disagree and / or compete. Most of all, I want you to hold me to it. And to tell me what your “stretch” goals are on this front. The important thing for me is not what you’re doing (or not doing) but what you commit to do that you aren’t doing now. The change is the challenge.
The broad target for me is a 50% reduction of current overall impact, over 1 year, with further reductions (probably a further 50%, but TBC) the following year.
It’s not 90%. And I’d like to say that right up front, because it’s tempting to blame the lack of data, the weather, the alignement of stars – anything to evade responsibility. Here’s the reality: I can’t commit to 90%. I am limited in what I’m prepared to forgo. The job, for the moment isn’t negotiable. The fact of work-outside-the-home limits the time I can spend on labour-intensive at-home-reductions.
In some areas, our reduction to 50% of our current may approximate the 90%.
The ISA site gives an average electricity figure of $510 per person, per year ($2040 for a family of four) which I’ll estimate at $550 to allow for inflation since the calculator was produced (ie $2200/family/year). Our annual household bill for 100% green energy is $680. The same amount of ordinary energy would probably (again, just an estimate) be $550. That makes us about a quarter of average consumption. Halving it would take us to 12.5% of average (close, no cigar, to the 90% plan). (Is this right? Have I missed something? ) I am aware of course, that green energy means I’m theoretically not creating any carbon emissions from domestic energy use, but I accept the argument that renewables are a chimera and that energy efficiency / usage reductions are the only long-term solution.
While that’s the goal for the 12 month period, for the coming 3 months, the aim is to maintain our energy bills at current levels. We are moving from a very warm, sun-drenched apartment optimally designed for passive solar gain to a draughty old house with room for a veggie patch. If we can manage this without getting a heater over the winter, I’ll regard it as a victory. Ironically, our greenhouse footprint will go up in the new house, because cooking is gas instead of green. Still more ironically, our total energy bill will go down as a result of this extra pollution, gas being significantly cheaper than renewables in our screwed up energy market. BTW there’s only 3 other areas for reduction I can see at home : hot water, fridge and standby stuff. (The only other electricity we use in any quantity is light, cooking and computers). That’s not going to stop me trying to halve usage charges come Spring (I’m thinking solar hot water or instantaneous gas hot water).
A different example: food consumption. ISA gives animal products meat (0.9ha) & dairy (0.15ha) consumption a combined 1.05 hectares (out of a total food and bev 1.8ha). As vegetarians, we are already between 10 and 15% of average as far as animal foods are concerned, or already 50% for food overall (though presumably, we eat more veges and grains to make up for the absence of meat). I don’t think we spend $28 a week on dairy (which is what ISA suggests is average for four people) and other obvious areas would be “Other foods” and “beverages” - I’m guessing this is sweets, convenience foods, and other items that are manufactured rather than grown (already not much of this in our diet).
I want to reduce household car-dependency by 50% over a year – perhaps the most ambitious of my Stage 1 plans. We offset our carbon emissions with Greenfleet this year, but I know having a few trees planted somewhere is a questionable stop-gap measure (and a bad attitude). The whole car-culture has to go. My goal for the year (underway) is to move somewhere where a car is not required (we’ll go from being homeowners to being renters to do this in the next couple of weeks) and the aim is to get rid of one of the cars over the next six months eliminating half of all car-trips from our life (ie not allow the other car to absorb trips the eliminated car previously took). I’m thinking seriously (still thinking, not yet doing) about getting and using a bike instead, although public transport or carpooling remain better options than our current car-dependant lifestyle. Some tough decisions / interesting choices start to emerge here. We can’t reach most of our friends or family without a car. Do we build a life around a new local community? Do we limit school choices available to our kids? I have nothing but respect for Sharon, Colin Beavan and others, but for the moment I’m trying to do this in the context of an urban, Sydney life.
I want to grow enough food to reduce our food purchases to mostly “dry goods” by $ value – grains, dried pulses, spices (none of which, I’m afraid, will be local). This is easier than working out any kind of 50% because (embarrassingly) I have no idea what we spend on food (or anything else for that matter until compacting, for which I can list every transgression). My dairy estimate is based on how many times we buy milk each week and how often we run out cheese. This is potentially challenging because I suspect that the veggie patch thing, even if successful, won’t be productive for several months. Not to mention that with both of us working full time (with little time and less experience) I’m not sure how productive this patch will actually be (whaddaya mean you have to pick off the caterpillars every day???).
There’s a limited amount I can do on water without any idea how much we currently use. We shower in pairs (a toddler or two gatecrashing), flush only when necessary and use a front-loading washing machine quite sparingly. If we can grow food without irrigating with tap water, that will be a significant water reduction on current, bought food. A rainwater tank would also help – if our new landlord is into it - and I’m going to design and implement full greywater recycling onto the (planned) veggie patch by summer.
We are going to have to make some purchases in order to “fund” some of these reductions (warm clothes stands out if we’re to have no heating – a bike, when we get rid of a car). But I can live with reductions as a reason to buy – even new if it’s the only useful option.
Oh and one last thing. In true pyramid scheme fashion (and so that my “groundswell” reasons for eschewing 90% aren’t just hot air) I’m going to convince two other people to accompany me on the 50% down journey and be accountable for their commitment. Aside from 50% reductions they commit to, they need commit to convincing two more people (for whom they will be accountable) and so on (like a chain letter).
Reductions beyond a certain point are much more difficult to make and sustain. This part of the plan recognises (much like a carbon trading scheme) that it’s less painful and more significant a reduction for me to buy my neighbour compact fluros than for me to turn off my last light. It allows us to make big reductions for relatively little pain *initially* by picking all the low hanging fruit regardless of whose garden it’s in (another overtired mixed metaphor). And importantly, it’s a way to build a larger community of people alert to austerity measures, so we can ultimately work together for more radical change.
*****
Let’s just be clear (in the spirit of full disclosure). I’m aware the limits I’m setting on what’s negotiable limit my reductions. I am baffled at what mental gymnastics allow me to keep my job, a car, a fridge etc in the circumstances.
I’m aware that refusing the heroic-sounding 90% challenge is in effect giving the finger to someone, somewhere, probably on the other side of the world, who this week cannot feed their kids because of my consumption.
And it is a very empty feeling to see my selfishness win over what I know would be just.
I’m not seeking absolution on this, I just wanted you to know I know.
I started out trying to get in touch with www.acfonline.org to see if their footprint calculator could be updated to fit the 90% reduction parameters discussed at Casaubon’s Book. Inflation (particularly for food) means even a couple of years can give a distorted picture. No reply after a couple of weeks. Busy working on their own save-the-planet projects, I guess.
Then I tried seeing if I could modify the underlying data (the spreadsheet behind the calculator is at http://www.isa.org.usyd.edu.au/. So I sat down and gave some serious thought to what was really going on here, and what was actually achievable and what was really necessary instead of just a “me too”.
For the benefit of anyone else who’d like alternative ways to approach this very worthy project, here’s my plan.
Premise 1: Targets and benchmarks are good. The main problem with this one is that it’s proving quite difficult to find Australian benchmarks – particularly ones that are clear about exactly what is being counted. The ISA spreadsheet behind the ACF calculator is probably the best I’ve found, being integrated (and thereby factoring in the water used to generate the energy you use and vice versa and etcetera) but it includes 1.0 hectares automatically (out of a total average 7.0) for government services and defence. True enough (I benefit from the infrastructure that’s paid for by the taxes paid by coal mining companies who export carbon emissions to China) but that 1.0 ha is already more than a 90% reduction would allow – even if I never ate, drank, purchased, consumed, or disposed of anything else. I lose before I even begin, which is a recipe for doomerism.
Premise 2: While the 90%ers note the importance of being able to show governments and others (through critical mass) that these significant reductions are achievable, Here in largely-coal-fired Oz we’re in an earlier stage of the movement - in fact, I'm not sure there really is a Peak Oil movement yet. And we KNOW our government isn't listening. I think we need to build the groundswell before we can develop community solutions.
I believe the best thing for me to do is make change that’s radical enough to get people talking, (to galvanise others into action) but not so radical they talk without being tempted to see if they can do it too. 90% for me is discouraging. The truly irritating thing about Sharon at Casaubon’s Book is how precisely she defeats my intellectual rationalising before I even formulate it(the most recent being my very important job blah blah which I couldn’t give up blah blah because it actually helps the environment etcetera blah).
Mostly, I think what we need now are more people, discussing what this means in an Australian context, and harnessing wider people power for the job of paving the way for acceptance of greater change.
As readers may have realised I’m still in the closet on lots of this stuff. I work in a suit, in the city and fly interstate for work once a month. The mums at my local kindy have expressed (outward) admiration for the healthful contents of my kids' lunchboxes, but one recently confessed to my partner that they think the kids are deprived on that basis. My nearest farmers’ market is a drive away (and no farmer is “local” to Sydney’s eastern suburbs). My water bill is identical quarter after quarter regardless of how much we use (they don’t bother working out usage in our apartment block). And a pot of basil on the kitchen bench is doing quite nicely, but not making inroads into feeding our family local foods. I'm up against some very pedestrian challenges, like many ordinary concerned people. I’d like to think that my audience is others like me (you know who you are!) in suits, cities, suburbs, and our school community and I'd like to show that chunky changes are possible. Easy even. This movement has to BE mainstream after all.
So in case you’re still with me, here’s my plan. Please feel free to comment, suggest, argue, disagree and / or compete. Most of all, I want you to hold me to it. And to tell me what your “stretch” goals are on this front. The important thing for me is not what you’re doing (or not doing) but what you commit to do that you aren’t doing now. The change is the challenge.
The broad target for me is a 50% reduction of current overall impact, over 1 year, with further reductions (probably a further 50%, but TBC) the following year.
It’s not 90%. And I’d like to say that right up front, because it’s tempting to blame the lack of data, the weather, the alignement of stars – anything to evade responsibility. Here’s the reality: I can’t commit to 90%. I am limited in what I’m prepared to forgo. The job, for the moment isn’t negotiable. The fact of work-outside-the-home limits the time I can spend on labour-intensive at-home-reductions.
In some areas, our reduction to 50% of our current may approximate the 90%.
The ISA site gives an average electricity figure of $510 per person, per year ($2040 for a family of four) which I’ll estimate at $550 to allow for inflation since the calculator was produced (ie $2200/family/year). Our annual household bill for 100% green energy is $680. The same amount of ordinary energy would probably (again, just an estimate) be $550. That makes us about a quarter of average consumption. Halving it would take us to 12.5% of average (close, no cigar, to the 90% plan). (Is this right? Have I missed something? ) I am aware of course, that green energy means I’m theoretically not creating any carbon emissions from domestic energy use, but I accept the argument that renewables are a chimera and that energy efficiency / usage reductions are the only long-term solution.
While that’s the goal for the 12 month period, for the coming 3 months, the aim is to maintain our energy bills at current levels. We are moving from a very warm, sun-drenched apartment optimally designed for passive solar gain to a draughty old house with room for a veggie patch. If we can manage this without getting a heater over the winter, I’ll regard it as a victory. Ironically, our greenhouse footprint will go up in the new house, because cooking is gas instead of green. Still more ironically, our total energy bill will go down as a result of this extra pollution, gas being significantly cheaper than renewables in our screwed up energy market. BTW there’s only 3 other areas for reduction I can see at home : hot water, fridge and standby stuff. (The only other electricity we use in any quantity is light, cooking and computers). That’s not going to stop me trying to halve usage charges come Spring (I’m thinking solar hot water or instantaneous gas hot water).
A different example: food consumption. ISA gives animal products meat (0.9ha) & dairy (0.15ha) consumption a combined 1.05 hectares (out of a total food and bev 1.8ha). As vegetarians, we are already between 10 and 15% of average as far as animal foods are concerned, or already 50% for food overall (though presumably, we eat more veges and grains to make up for the absence of meat). I don’t think we spend $28 a week on dairy (which is what ISA suggests is average for four people) and other obvious areas would be “Other foods” and “beverages” - I’m guessing this is sweets, convenience foods, and other items that are manufactured rather than grown (already not much of this in our diet).
I want to reduce household car-dependency by 50% over a year – perhaps the most ambitious of my Stage 1 plans. We offset our carbon emissions with Greenfleet this year, but I know having a few trees planted somewhere is a questionable stop-gap measure (and a bad attitude). The whole car-culture has to go. My goal for the year (underway) is to move somewhere where a car is not required (we’ll go from being homeowners to being renters to do this in the next couple of weeks) and the aim is to get rid of one of the cars over the next six months eliminating half of all car-trips from our life (ie not allow the other car to absorb trips the eliminated car previously took). I’m thinking seriously (still thinking, not yet doing) about getting and using a bike instead, although public transport or carpooling remain better options than our current car-dependant lifestyle. Some tough decisions / interesting choices start to emerge here. We can’t reach most of our friends or family without a car. Do we build a life around a new local community? Do we limit school choices available to our kids? I have nothing but respect for Sharon, Colin Beavan and others, but for the moment I’m trying to do this in the context of an urban, Sydney life.
I want to grow enough food to reduce our food purchases to mostly “dry goods” by $ value – grains, dried pulses, spices (none of which, I’m afraid, will be local). This is easier than working out any kind of 50% because (embarrassingly) I have no idea what we spend on food (or anything else for that matter until compacting, for which I can list every transgression). My dairy estimate is based on how many times we buy milk each week and how often we run out cheese. This is potentially challenging because I suspect that the veggie patch thing, even if successful, won’t be productive for several months. Not to mention that with both of us working full time (with little time and less experience) I’m not sure how productive this patch will actually be (whaddaya mean you have to pick off the caterpillars every day???).
There’s a limited amount I can do on water without any idea how much we currently use. We shower in pairs (a toddler or two gatecrashing), flush only when necessary and use a front-loading washing machine quite sparingly. If we can grow food without irrigating with tap water, that will be a significant water reduction on current, bought food. A rainwater tank would also help – if our new landlord is into it - and I’m going to design and implement full greywater recycling onto the (planned) veggie patch by summer.
We are going to have to make some purchases in order to “fund” some of these reductions (warm clothes stands out if we’re to have no heating – a bike, when we get rid of a car). But I can live with reductions as a reason to buy – even new if it’s the only useful option.
Oh and one last thing. In true pyramid scheme fashion (and so that my “groundswell” reasons for eschewing 90% aren’t just hot air) I’m going to convince two other people to accompany me on the 50% down journey and be accountable for their commitment. Aside from 50% reductions they commit to, they need commit to convincing two more people (for whom they will be accountable) and so on (like a chain letter).
Reductions beyond a certain point are much more difficult to make and sustain. This part of the plan recognises (much like a carbon trading scheme) that it’s less painful and more significant a reduction for me to buy my neighbour compact fluros than for me to turn off my last light. It allows us to make big reductions for relatively little pain *initially* by picking all the low hanging fruit regardless of whose garden it’s in (another overtired mixed metaphor). And importantly, it’s a way to build a larger community of people alert to austerity measures, so we can ultimately work together for more radical change.
*****
Let’s just be clear (in the spirit of full disclosure). I’m aware the limits I’m setting on what’s negotiable limit my reductions. I am baffled at what mental gymnastics allow me to keep my job, a car, a fridge etc in the circumstances.
I’m aware that refusing the heroic-sounding 90% challenge is in effect giving the finger to someone, somewhere, probably on the other side of the world, who this week cannot feed their kids because of my consumption.
And it is a very empty feeling to see my selfishness win over what I know would be just.
I’m not seeking absolution on this, I just wanted you to know I know.
TEST
Test - blogger has not let me add a new post for a couple of weeks. If this one doesn't work, I'm moving to wordpress.
Friday, 18 May 2007
Not enough
The compact encouraged me to go down a path, and although I'm far from declaring victory on that front, it isn't enough.
The warm and fuzzies were nice for a while (and it's lovely to be part of a community that acknowledges these issues) but it ISN'T enough!!
Over at Casaubons book (see link at right) they're starting a movement to reduce energy consumption to 10% of current US average energy use.
Targets are good. What gets measured gets made. At some point you just have to draw a line in the sand. And congratulating myself on making yoghurt (and other satifying, but ultimately miniscule efforts) are nice tokens, but won't help guarantee my kids a future.
I'm going to do some research and set up a spreadsheet or something to make the maths easier. I'm going to source reasonable info to help set appropriate parameters. And I'm going to drum up all the support I can get from the wonderful community of Australian bloggers I've discovered - so we can make real change happen, together.
Who's in?
The warm and fuzzies were nice for a while (and it's lovely to be part of a community that acknowledges these issues) but it ISN'T enough!!
Over at Casaubons book (see link at right) they're starting a movement to reduce energy consumption to 10% of current US average energy use.
Targets are good. What gets measured gets made. At some point you just have to draw a line in the sand. And congratulating myself on making yoghurt (and other satifying, but ultimately miniscule efforts) are nice tokens, but won't help guarantee my kids a future.
I'm going to do some research and set up a spreadsheet or something to make the maths easier. I'm going to source reasonable info to help set appropriate parameters. And I'm going to drum up all the support I can get from the wonderful community of Australian bloggers I've discovered - so we can make real change happen, together.
Who's in?
Monday, 14 May 2007
Reality check
Finally frustrated with my father (whose childhood involved begging storekeepers for bread on credit) for continuing to buy my kids more plastic garbage (and I mean garbage - stuff that breaks the same day, bought at $2 shops) I began a good natured rant at him about peak oil and found myself stunned at the things coming out of my mouth.
"For every piece of plastic you buy, every bit of cheap oil we consume, that means something that won't be available to them in the future."
"I know" he said sheepishly. I felt compelled to continue.
"That's a diabetes drug they'll need, and will not be able to buy." (his mother had diabetes throughout her life).
"I know" he said again.
"Can you imagine them knowing that their grandfather wasted his money on plastic rubbish, manufactured with oil feedstocks, transported at great expense from China, only to be thrown out the day after it was purchased, cos it was never made to last...can you imagine the day they run out of their medicine, and remember the stuff you bought for them to break and throw out?"
Dad conceded to my hysteria.
What frightened me was not what I was saying. It was the fact that when said out loud it's seriously dramatic (my husband's convinced I'm being melodramatic) and yet, somehow, it doesn't have the impact it should. For a cocktail party on the weekend, I still nearly went out to buy a cocktail shaker (and am eternally grateful to my friend for convincing me to stay true to the compact, and ring around a bit more to borrow one).
Because it's a non-negotiable idea that the oil-supply is non-negotiable. A non-renewable resource is a zero sum game: anything oil-rich you consume now (petrol, plastic, conventional agriculture or just something unnecessarily imported) is something else that can't be bought later. And it breaks my heart much more to think that I'm robbing my kids of the petrol they need to get to a doctor in 50 years. Or the drugs they'll need but that are made only overseas. The stuff of life (not "quality of life"). And yet, we have two cars.
It's a similar perspective check to the one described by Peter Singer. www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/19990905.htm
Somehow, we are psychologically inept at assessing things that are non-specific (even if certain) or distant in time or space.
I understand the ABC is about to screen a documentary "CRUDE" which I'm very much looking forward to.
"For every piece of plastic you buy, every bit of cheap oil we consume, that means something that won't be available to them in the future."
"I know" he said sheepishly. I felt compelled to continue.
"That's a diabetes drug they'll need, and will not be able to buy." (his mother had diabetes throughout her life).
"I know" he said again.
"Can you imagine them knowing that their grandfather wasted his money on plastic rubbish, manufactured with oil feedstocks, transported at great expense from China, only to be thrown out the day after it was purchased, cos it was never made to last...can you imagine the day they run out of their medicine, and remember the stuff you bought for them to break and throw out?"
Dad conceded to my hysteria.
What frightened me was not what I was saying. It was the fact that when said out loud it's seriously dramatic (my husband's convinced I'm being melodramatic) and yet, somehow, it doesn't have the impact it should. For a cocktail party on the weekend, I still nearly went out to buy a cocktail shaker (and am eternally grateful to my friend for convincing me to stay true to the compact, and ring around a bit more to borrow one).
Because it's a non-negotiable idea that the oil-supply is non-negotiable. A non-renewable resource is a zero sum game: anything oil-rich you consume now (petrol, plastic, conventional agriculture or just something unnecessarily imported) is something else that can't be bought later. And it breaks my heart much more to think that I'm robbing my kids of the petrol they need to get to a doctor in 50 years. Or the drugs they'll need but that are made only overseas. The stuff of life (not "quality of life"). And yet, we have two cars.
It's a similar perspective check to the one described by Peter Singer. www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/19990905.htm
Somehow, we are psychologically inept at assessing things that are non-specific (even if certain) or distant in time or space.
I understand the ABC is about to screen a documentary "CRUDE" which I'm very much looking forward to.
Wednesday, 2 May 2007
Confession time
Here's some things I need help with. If anyone has got any suggestions, whether practical, or philospohical, as to how we wean ourselves off these bad habits, I'd love to hear them.
We have two cars. My partner works from numerous sites all over town, and arguably, really does need his. I'd love to carshare eg http://www.goget.com.au/ and get rid of the second car, but we don't live near anything like that. Our public transport (though not bad for Sydney standards) also doesn't make the grade eg on mornings that require a kindy drop off and from there get to the city. Or groceries on the way home from work. I did get bike voucher (as requested) for Christmas, but my commute involves the infamous Heartbreak Hill(s); the Sydney region known for the worst drivers in Sydney, 50% 4WDs and no alternative backstreet routes. Since giving me his handwritten voucher, my partner has witnessed two serious bike-car incidents and is understandably concerned about safety. (I say him, but I mean me too).
I have lapses in vegetarianism (the boys and DH do not lapse, never having known anything else). These lapses have been occurring for almost 10 years. Environmental thinking is more likely to stay my fork than humanitarian thinking on the issue, when I'm faced with a tempting menu, so I try to focus on this. But still, my last screwup was only last week.
I know I should give up my New Yorker subscription, involving dead trees, significant advertising and a flight all around the globe. The articles are in any case online. But I can't bear to, not yet anyway.
We have two cars. My partner works from numerous sites all over town, and arguably, really does need his. I'd love to carshare eg http://www.goget.com.au/ and get rid of the second car, but we don't live near anything like that. Our public transport (though not bad for Sydney standards) also doesn't make the grade eg on mornings that require a kindy drop off and from there get to the city. Or groceries on the way home from work. I did get bike voucher (as requested) for Christmas, but my commute involves the infamous Heartbreak Hill(s); the Sydney region known for the worst drivers in Sydney, 50% 4WDs and no alternative backstreet routes. Since giving me his handwritten voucher, my partner has witnessed two serious bike-car incidents and is understandably concerned about safety. (I say him, but I mean me too).
I have lapses in vegetarianism (the boys and DH do not lapse, never having known anything else). These lapses have been occurring for almost 10 years. Environmental thinking is more likely to stay my fork than humanitarian thinking on the issue, when I'm faced with a tempting menu, so I try to focus on this. But still, my last screwup was only last week.
I know I should give up my New Yorker subscription, involving dead trees, significant advertising and a flight all around the globe. The articles are in any case online. But I can't bear to, not yet anyway.
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Warm and fuzzies for free
For those who'd like to start with smaller changes, I thought I'd start a list of what to me have been complete no brainers - having no noticable impact (or a net positive impact) on my lifestyle. It's cheating really - warm and fuzzies for nothing.
- We don't wash the car
- We don't clean much at home
- We turn off the lights and use compact fluorescents. The ones marked "warm light" give light that is no different to normal incandescents.
Those really were cheating. They're SUCH no-brainers that they predate my attempt at compacting, it's just that now I have a good reason not to do these boring chores (Q. How many days does it take to change a lightbulb? A. There's a bathroom light that's been out at my place for over 3 years!)
Here are some that result from compacting
- We don't buy cleaning products, or much prepackaged food
- We don't buy disposable nappies, paper towels or tampons anymore. I was dreading vast stinking piles of urine-soaked laundry but actually, (and with the caveat that my kids are in nappies at night only) microfibre absorbent cloths and waterproof pants don't add up to much at all. THey go through with normal washing or get rinsed out in the shower. To date there have been no leaks or other major issues.
- As I'm packing kindy lunches now anyway, I'm often making some for us grownups too. I don't have to brave city foodcourts anymore. I prefer to potter in my office kitchen than to queue for questionable lunches at some chain (not to mention the $ savings!)
- I stopped buying pick-me-ups like chocolate bars or bottled juice. For some reason after stopping I also stopped craving it anymore. in fact we've barely made a dint in the Easter Eggs we received (which totalled less than 500g of chocolate for a family of four).
- The Keeper - I can't recommend it enough. A mere two months on, tampons seem kind of disgusting in comparison.
These are all examples where sustainability measures have unexpectedly delivered us better quality of life: not needing all this consumable / disposable stuff means not running out, remembering to buy it or having to shop for it. In fact we can now pretty much do all shopping at a greengrocer, and for 2 months have not needed to do the big supermarket shop - giving us back a significant chunk of time, calm and sanity - which in turn means we can shop locally and not have to head to the mall.
In fact I see a theme emerging where a virtuous cycle comes from compacting - with reduction begetting reduction.
- We don't wash the car
- We don't clean much at home
- We turn off the lights and use compact fluorescents. The ones marked "warm light" give light that is no different to normal incandescents.
Those really were cheating. They're SUCH no-brainers that they predate my attempt at compacting, it's just that now I have a good reason not to do these boring chores (Q. How many days does it take to change a lightbulb? A. There's a bathroom light that's been out at my place for over 3 years!)
Here are some that result from compacting
- We don't buy cleaning products, or much prepackaged food
- We don't buy disposable nappies, paper towels or tampons anymore. I was dreading vast stinking piles of urine-soaked laundry but actually, (and with the caveat that my kids are in nappies at night only) microfibre absorbent cloths and waterproof pants don't add up to much at all. THey go through with normal washing or get rinsed out in the shower. To date there have been no leaks or other major issues.
- As I'm packing kindy lunches now anyway, I'm often making some for us grownups too. I don't have to brave city foodcourts anymore. I prefer to potter in my office kitchen than to queue for questionable lunches at some chain (not to mention the $ savings!)
- I stopped buying pick-me-ups like chocolate bars or bottled juice. For some reason after stopping I also stopped craving it anymore. in fact we've barely made a dint in the Easter Eggs we received (which totalled less than 500g of chocolate for a family of four).
- The Keeper - I can't recommend it enough. A mere two months on, tampons seem kind of disgusting in comparison.
These are all examples where sustainability measures have unexpectedly delivered us better quality of life: not needing all this consumable / disposable stuff means not running out, remembering to buy it or having to shop for it. In fact we can now pretty much do all shopping at a greengrocer, and for 2 months have not needed to do the big supermarket shop - giving us back a significant chunk of time, calm and sanity - which in turn means we can shop locally and not have to head to the mall.
In fact I see a theme emerging where a virtuous cycle comes from compacting - with reduction begetting reduction.
counter evolution
The yoghurt has got me thinking about how much cultural (excuse pun) and intellectual capital we're losing.
I had to learn from my mum how make and mend clothes, but would need to go back to my grandmother for pickling or preserving fruit. It was my great grandmother who would have known how to keep chooks or grow veggies, and I'd probably have to go back to a great-great grandma to know how to help birth a baby.
And I can do a myriad things that they could never have even imagined (blogging being an obvious one). But I can't relate epics around a campfire (I can't even tell a good joke - as you'd have witnessed from my first post). And for all my internet research fetish, I can't tell you what local plants are edible. And if the power went down for any length of time, I wouldn't even know where to go to find out. And I'd have no idea how to find my way home if needed to navigate by the stars.
Yet most of these things would have been common knowledge for my ancestors and others, refined through many generations of evolution. Presumably, if I went far back enough, my ancestors knew how to hunt, survive ice ages.
My tentative steps to reclaim this have been paltry by comparison. I've learned to sharpen kitchen knives. Grown sweet basil from seed. And then there's that continuing yoghurt experiment...
I had to learn from my mum how make and mend clothes, but would need to go back to my grandmother for pickling or preserving fruit. It was my great grandmother who would have known how to keep chooks or grow veggies, and I'd probably have to go back to a great-great grandma to know how to help birth a baby.
And I can do a myriad things that they could never have even imagined (blogging being an obvious one). But I can't relate epics around a campfire (I can't even tell a good joke - as you'd have witnessed from my first post). And for all my internet research fetish, I can't tell you what local plants are edible. And if the power went down for any length of time, I wouldn't even know where to go to find out. And I'd have no idea how to find my way home if needed to navigate by the stars.
Yet most of these things would have been common knowledge for my ancestors and others, refined through many generations of evolution. Presumably, if I went far back enough, my ancestors knew how to hunt, survive ice ages.
My tentative steps to reclaim this have been paltry by comparison. I've learned to sharpen kitchen knives. Grown sweet basil from seed. And then there's that continuing yoghurt experiment...
Monday, 30 April 2007
..and what I can't give up
I was never that much of a shopper. It's a healthy habit of thought I inherited from my mother (although her reasons, formed in a poorer place and time, were more about thrift than reduced consumption). So compacting for me has been more about discovery - there's an organic food shop near my home; you can get a suit for $15 on Ebay, and make yoghurt out of milk and ...old yoghurt.
But there are some things I'm finding hard to let go, philosophically.
- stuff that helps reduce consumption elsewhere. I've bought cloth nappies, a cheap sewing machine and a Keeper. And an extra worm farm. None of which I attempted to get second hand.
- books. Not airport novels or celebrity cookbooks, but books nevertheless. And I still get my New Yorker subscription (though I wish they'd do an international version without the 50 pages of dead trees on gigs around Tribeca and the strange advertising for bejewelled garden benches and such. Who am I kidding. I have to give it up). I've tried the library. Perhaps everyone has exactly the same taste in reading as me so the books were out. Or perhaps our library caters to different taste in reading and they never had those books on the shelf. Either way, not there.
- art. It doesn't seem right that I wouldn't buy it - art, music, literature, ideas aren't about consumption, but something more deeply human. I don't know that it's right to give it up.
On the other hand, the marketing machine knows about these deeply held values (there's that word again), and isn't shy of calling a kitchen appliance "a work of art" or implying you'll "never buy another watch" (this one ...boom boom... being timeless).
But there are some things I'm finding hard to let go, philosophically.
- stuff that helps reduce consumption elsewhere. I've bought cloth nappies, a cheap sewing machine and a Keeper. And an extra worm farm. None of which I attempted to get second hand.
- books. Not airport novels or celebrity cookbooks, but books nevertheless. And I still get my New Yorker subscription (though I wish they'd do an international version without the 50 pages of dead trees on gigs around Tribeca and the strange advertising for bejewelled garden benches and such. Who am I kidding. I have to give it up). I've tried the library. Perhaps everyone has exactly the same taste in reading as me so the books were out. Or perhaps our library caters to different taste in reading and they never had those books on the shelf. Either way, not there.
- art. It doesn't seem right that I wouldn't buy it - art, music, literature, ideas aren't about consumption, but something more deeply human. I don't know that it's right to give it up.
On the other hand, the marketing machine knows about these deeply held values (there's that word again), and isn't shy of calling a kitchen appliance "a work of art" or implying you'll "never buy another watch" (this one ...boom boom... being timeless).
What gives?
No Impact Man posed an interesting question some time ago about what, in the final analysis, we're willing to give up in the interests of sustainability: What is the balance to be maintained between preserving our “way of life” and our efforts to keep the planet healthy? How healthy do we want the planet to be and what are we willing to sacrifice for it?
I think the "way of life" phrase is a US thing - I'm sure I've heard it from Dubbya - but it raised some interesting questions about what gives (or what gives first).
Jared Diamond's book "Collapse" (gee I wish I could figure out formatting in this blog!) devotes Chapter 14 to discussing reasons some societies make decisions that cause their failure. The book covers societies ranging from the ancient Maya to contemporary Haiti and his analysis is in IMHO pretty thoroughgoing.
Diamond identifies a number of causes for societal collapse: From failure to anticipate (eg the British idea that releasing rabbits in Australia was a solid idea) through failure to perceive (typically slow trends like climate changes, or ones no individual is able to perceive, like expanding global population) and through to the idea that some problems have no solution, even when they are well understood.
But the scariest cause he postulates is "values" and other failures of rationality (like psychological denial). Almost by definition, we would not recognise them in ourselves. He describes the Greenland Norse, facing environmental extremes and a very marginal existence, seeing themselves as fundamentally Christian, European, farmers - meaning they directed their meagre resources towards church ornaments and not tools, to hunting walrus ivory to trade with Europe instead of haymaking during their 3 precious months of sunshine each year, and towards farming and not fishing, even when things got to starvation point (and despite plentiful fisheries). He also points out that the Greenland Norse, though they died out in 500 years, survived there longer than western patterns of settlement and agriculture have survived anywhere in the New World.
Call me a radical, but "our way of life" is the very first things I'd like to question. So over to you dear readers (if you're out there...anyone) many of us are tackling the consumption culture (compact) challenge - what else could we happily leave behind?
I think the "way of life" phrase is a US thing - I'm sure I've heard it from Dubbya - but it raised some interesting questions about what gives (or what gives first).
Jared Diamond's book "Collapse" (gee I wish I could figure out formatting in this blog!) devotes Chapter 14 to discussing reasons some societies make decisions that cause their failure. The book covers societies ranging from the ancient Maya to contemporary Haiti and his analysis is in IMHO pretty thoroughgoing.
Diamond identifies a number of causes for societal collapse: From failure to anticipate (eg the British idea that releasing rabbits in Australia was a solid idea) through failure to perceive (typically slow trends like climate changes, or ones no individual is able to perceive, like expanding global population) and through to the idea that some problems have no solution, even when they are well understood.
But the scariest cause he postulates is "values" and other failures of rationality (like psychological denial). Almost by definition, we would not recognise them in ourselves. He describes the Greenland Norse, facing environmental extremes and a very marginal existence, seeing themselves as fundamentally Christian, European, farmers - meaning they directed their meagre resources towards church ornaments and not tools, to hunting walrus ivory to trade with Europe instead of haymaking during their 3 precious months of sunshine each year, and towards farming and not fishing, even when things got to starvation point (and despite plentiful fisheries). He also points out that the Greenland Norse, though they died out in 500 years, survived there longer than western patterns of settlement and agriculture have survived anywhere in the New World.
Call me a radical, but "our way of life" is the very first things I'd like to question. So over to you dear readers (if you're out there...anyone) many of us are tackling the consumption culture (compact) challenge - what else could we happily leave behind?
Sunday, 29 April 2007
viscious [spin] cycle
Some weeks ago we ran out of dishwasher powder and I dreaded a return to sharehouse days when bowls could be piled more than a foot high (and none left to use) before anyone did the washing up by hand.
It didn't happen. We do some handwashing almost daily anyway (wine glasses, some pots, knives and chopping boards) so it wasn't much harder to include a couple more items.
More importantly, we used less! The kids refilled the same water cups all day, I rinsed out my teacup with boiling water (which I do anyway, to heat the cup up) and sandwich plates did double duty with fruit for a 2nd course. It was no big deal.
Which is how I came to realise that
a) dishwashers make us use more than we need to (perhaps an unconcious wish to avoid the stiff sitting in there for three days and going mouldy
b) using more than we need to means we *have* more than we need to (as you need enough to use while the other stuff is in the dishwasher)
c) having more than we need to means we need more room to store it all, and more storage space in the kitchen (not to mention the space taken up by the diswasher itself) and therefore a bigger kitchen than we would otherwise need.
It's a viscious cycle.
Here's another one.
Sydney has had almost 7 days of constant rain (apparently only a couple of mm of this has fallen into the catchment). With only a small indoor clothes frame at my disposal (and no dryer) I've been economising on clothes, dressing my children in yesterday's t-shirt, trousers and even singlets - depending on how much clean stuff is left in the drawer. That economising mentality has probably added up to several fewer loads of laundry in the course of the week. If I always thought like that, it would mean we needed significantly fewer clothes (it's not like three-year-olds need evening or office wear!)
Why don't I always think that way? Who told me you needed new t-shirt every day regardless? Why did I try to "fake it" for preschool days (clothes from the weekend, but not worn yet at kindy) so other mums wouldn't know my children weren't in fresh clothes that day?
It didn't happen. We do some handwashing almost daily anyway (wine glasses, some pots, knives and chopping boards) so it wasn't much harder to include a couple more items.
More importantly, we used less! The kids refilled the same water cups all day, I rinsed out my teacup with boiling water (which I do anyway, to heat the cup up) and sandwich plates did double duty with fruit for a 2nd course. It was no big deal.
Which is how I came to realise that
a) dishwashers make us use more than we need to (perhaps an unconcious wish to avoid the stiff sitting in there for three days and going mouldy
b) using more than we need to means we *have* more than we need to (as you need enough to use while the other stuff is in the dishwasher)
c) having more than we need to means we need more room to store it all, and more storage space in the kitchen (not to mention the space taken up by the diswasher itself) and therefore a bigger kitchen than we would otherwise need.
It's a viscious cycle.
Here's another one.
Sydney has had almost 7 days of constant rain (apparently only a couple of mm of this has fallen into the catchment). With only a small indoor clothes frame at my disposal (and no dryer) I've been economising on clothes, dressing my children in yesterday's t-shirt, trousers and even singlets - depending on how much clean stuff is left in the drawer. That economising mentality has probably added up to several fewer loads of laundry in the course of the week. If I always thought like that, it would mean we needed significantly fewer clothes (it's not like three-year-olds need evening or office wear!)
Why don't I always think that way? Who told me you needed new t-shirt every day regardless? Why did I try to "fake it" for preschool days (clothes from the weekend, but not worn yet at kindy) so other mums wouldn't know my children weren't in fresh clothes that day?
Saturday, 28 April 2007
Kissing cousins
We've just returned from visiting cousins on the other side of town, and it was strange to feel our lives had so diverged. The kids entertained themselves in front of Foxtel, we ordered pizza, and they poured my little ones big glasses of Sprite.
I felt overprotective and paranoid, and although we loved seeing them, I couldn't wait to get away; our normality was seriously challenged by theirs.
This is the hard stuff. I can coax my boys into cloth nappies by calling them "astronaut undies". I can stay up late to cook & freeze so we don't rely on packaged additives on the days I'm not at home to cook. But how do I tell my 9 year old cousin, who has so generously demonstrated her entire jazz dancing repertoire, that I don't want my children watching the toxic TV show she's glued to (and that she and her sisters are singing the theme song for, solos and all).
Here's where I come to ask how.
I felt overprotective and paranoid, and although we loved seeing them, I couldn't wait to get away; our normality was seriously challenged by theirs.
This is the hard stuff. I can coax my boys into cloth nappies by calling them "astronaut undies". I can stay up late to cook & freeze so we don't rely on packaged additives on the days I'm not at home to cook. But how do I tell my 9 year old cousin, who has so generously demonstrated her entire jazz dancing repertoire, that I don't want my children watching the toxic TV show she's glued to (and that she and her sisters are singing the theme song for, solos and all).
Here's where I come to ask how.
What's white and can't climb trees?
Q. What's white and can't climb trees?
A. A yoghurt.
I've been told speeches should always begin with a joke. It's a pretty lame one, but it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard 25 years ago, when I first heard it.
I'm reminded of it because there's a questionable jar of something on our sunniest window ledge. I hope it's on its way to becoming yoghurt - but I'm not sure exactly what it is now (other than white, lumpy and kind of worrying).
What else is new? There's a worm farm in our bathroom, and organics in the fridge. I'm refashioning rather than buying a new suit I need for work. I have found reserves of domestic ingenuity that I never knew existed (and that I could never confess to in my workplace or normal social circles). Why is it that those feel like things to be ashamed of?
But there's a whole new kind of ... is it? ... yes it's pride ... in being more deliberate about how we live. And in making tentative, whispered connections with other people who are doing the same.
I find it endlessly exciting, energising, amplifying, to think this is part of something bigger.
It's a kind of magic. Like yoghurt.
Welcome to my blog.
A. A yoghurt.
I've been told speeches should always begin with a joke. It's a pretty lame one, but it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard 25 years ago, when I first heard it.
I'm reminded of it because there's a questionable jar of something on our sunniest window ledge. I hope it's on its way to becoming yoghurt - but I'm not sure exactly what it is now (other than white, lumpy and kind of worrying).
What else is new? There's a worm farm in our bathroom, and organics in the fridge. I'm refashioning rather than buying a new suit I need for work. I have found reserves of domestic ingenuity that I never knew existed (and that I could never confess to in my workplace or normal social circles). Why is it that those feel like things to be ashamed of?
But there's a whole new kind of ... is it? ... yes it's pride ... in being more deliberate about how we live. And in making tentative, whispered connections with other people who are doing the same.
I find it endlessly exciting, energising, amplifying, to think this is part of something bigger.
It's a kind of magic. Like yoghurt.
Welcome to my blog.
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