Snipping Those (Almost) Empty Toothpaste Tubes

A few weeks ago, I was watching some Oprah reruns on the tube, relaxing with a cup of joe and some oatmeal cookies.  Oprah let it drop that she routinely cuts open her old tubes of toothpaste instead of trashing them, just so she can get every last drop out of each one.  So I thought--Wow!  That sounds like something I would do.  I can't stand waste.  When I throw out perfectly good food that was left on the supper plates, I envision some child going to bed without nourishing food, and there I go, throwing scraps down the drain that could maybe save a starving person.  I feel guilty. Really guilty.  There's a lot of suffering going on in America these days.  Fewer jobs, higher costs, uncertainty.  It makes me think that we could do better than we are doing as a nation, and so more and more, I've been looking at things that aggravate me because there's so much waste involved.  Lately, I've noticed that the packaging designs of some products actually encourage waste.  For example, the liquid laundry detergent that I buy has a huge pour spout fitted tightly into the container's neck.  The force of gravity will not cause the remaining detergent to move through that spout.  So after the detergent seems to be all used up, I throw away that big plastic jug.  I got curious one day, and just as I was throwing away an empty, I noticed a pair of flat-nose pliers on the shelf right next to the clothespins.  I took the pliers in hand, clamped them firmly on the pour spout of that big jug, and yanked it real good one time.  Off it popped, and detergent sloshed all over me.  Now wait a minute.  I was about to throw away that jug, and at least a cup of useful detergent with it.  From then on, I always used pliers to remove the pour spouts, and I would always be able to wash a load or two more with what detergent I had been throwing away.  I guess that next step engaged my devious mind, so I started to notice all the packaging problems in other products.  One make-up product I use has a pump.  Efficient, you might say.  But sure enough, when I pulled off the pump which was affixed to the jar as part of the design, at least 1/4 of the entire contents was still in the bottom.  A tube of foot creme, very expensive, was next.  When I finally emptied it, and was wondering how much more the next tube would cost, I cut the container across the middle with some scissors.  Sure enough, there was lots of creme left--enough to delay another purchase for at least a month.  Hand lotion, loose face powder, dish liquid, shampoo--all the same.  I began to research, looking for packaging designs by large companies, thinking that I could contact a corporate website and complain.  Hey, I'm a consumer and I have a voice.  I discovered something amazing!  Giant filling stations for products like laundry detergent, bottled water, shampoo, cleaning products, and so many others.  The concept already exists, and is catching on in some parts of the country.  That's phenomenal!  All those plastic containers don't have to end up in landfills, at least not immediately.  What if you could go to a laundry detergent dispenser in your favorite grocery chain store, bring your almost-new containers with you, and refill them numerous times, much like we do propane gas for our grills.  Then, take them to recycling centers, so that new refillable containers are made.  We could end the need for new packaging in a short period of time as this sustainable product becomes more and more popular and well-known.  Pause.  Hang on.  Now wait a gall darn minute--What if all this unnecessary packaging, these design features that appear to make products more convenient or attractive, are actually a ploy to force consumers to buy more products more often.  I'm saying that the design is sometimes flawed, by design.  That it's intentional.  That the big corporate bosses might think they are pulling the wool, so to speak, over the eyes of the consumer, all in the name of convenience and product improvement.  And if that's the case, I'm just angry.  So I'm still researching, still evaluating, and still snipping my toothpaste tubes.  Who knows.  Maybe I'm on to something big.    

Write a Letter Today, PLEASE

Recently, I found some old love letters.  It was last Saturday, and I was trying to get a very messy garage cleaned out when I found an old jewelry box.  Inside were many treasures.  There was my class ring--shiny gold, its green stone hardly changed in all those years.  There was an old black rosary, some Indian Head pennies, and a gold, delicate ring--its onyx stone cracked and lost long ago.  When I reached the bottom of the box, I took out a stack of letters, all from my sweetheart, the man I married, my husband.  The letters were postmarked Falls Church, Virginia, and were from March to August.  The year was 1969.  He had lived there during the months before our wedding, working at several different jobs, waiting for the draft, and saving money for our September wedding.  I got a letter at least once a week, maybe twice.  The price of a stamp was six cents, and the United States Post Office was the only mail service around.  I slid off the frayed, pink ribbon that held the stack of letters and opened one.  There were six pages, each one lined, each one written in the same blue ink.  I pictured him at twenty, sitting at a kitchen table, probably at the end of a long day of work, patiently writing the loving words that would eventually bring me to this epiphany.  People simply do not write letters much at all anymore.  And even more tragic--they probably never will again.  Most of us text or post or tweet.  How ironic that I am even defending this archaic practice in a blog!  Besides, why should people write something down that is already old news when the recipient receives it?  That's a waste of time, right?  Well, no.  The discovery I made in reading those old letters was a genuine realization that letter writing should not be dying.  Words have tremendous power:  to persuade, to express feelings, to change the world.  Letters are a history, a record, an account.  Written letters require a commitment.  They require the writer to risk something of himself.  They are a tangible reminder that thoughts of a loved one, an account of an experience, or the mundane happenings in the life of a twenty year old might cause tears to fall on blue ink pages 42 years after the words were first written.  So letter writing doesn't have to die unless people allow it to happen.  And if it does?  Well, the joy in opening a treasure like I did last Saturday will be lost forever.  If I may, I'll suggest that you go out and buy a nice pen in your favorite color.  Pick up some linen paper and envelopes.  And go ahead and buy a few stamps while you're at it.  Make someone's day.  Write a letter, PLEASE.

The time is right

It's only August 9 but leaves are falling.  Tonight's low will be in the comfortable 50s.  My school's first home football game is two weeks away.  And so the cycle continues and the world is set upright once again.  Now this is not the way I would handle things.  No, if I had the power, I'd do things a little differently.   Summertime would be the only time, and sunny would be the only weather available.  There would be no snow, no cold, and only warm showers to make the flowers grow.  Pools would be open year round and stores would only sell pastel shorts and sun dresses.  There would be no brown or grey--and no wool, for that matter.  Occasional fluffy white clouds would shade the sun and light showers would water the flowers.  Cities would never budget for snow removal and city playgrounds and pools would never close.  It's easy to imagine such a world, isn't it?  Now, just as I am turning over on the chaise to tan the backs of my legs, my mind travels back to the first pleasant days last spring.  I see again the first redbuds as I drive along the road from school one March day, so breathtaking that I named it Redbud Lane for its thousands of voluntary blossoms.  I recall the first brave crocus, mindful that one brief burst of color is all they were made for.  Red and yellow tulips tipping their heads in fierce March wind...anyway.  Green lawns and meadows that were brown just days before, voluptuous and sensual, inviting lovers to their soft beds.  Like a great awakening, the spring is here and will live until she dies to summer.  Then summer will die to winter, and spring will begin the cycle all over again.  I'm cycling too, these days, and there seems to be a great awakening within me.  Having lived inside a dark place for far too long, I am like the first crocus, bravely sprouting out of the snow.  Though it is both frightening and joyful to be in this place, it feels right.  Maybe, just maybe...the time is right.