Friday Feature: Saving Some Clams

I eat out way more than I should, and, as a result, takeout containers are a staple in my refrigerator. I'm always appreciative of eco-friendly containers. I cringe when I ask for a container for my leftovers and am handed some polystyrene clam shell contraption which leaves me the option of either wasting perfectly good food or contributing to the ongoing damage to our environment.

Consequently, I was excited to read that New York City is banning these containers.

From my perspective, Manhattan is a nice place to visit, but I don't want to live there, so while this change will have little impact on me personally, it's nevertheless a big consideration. I'm concerned by the fact that many of those with the power to protect our planet are pretty blasé about doing so; some are blatantly unconcerned about the ramifications of business as usual and others even want to turn back time when it comes to protecting our environment. So, when I see a story with a happy ending for Planet Earth, it want to applaud -- and share it.

Like the containers themselves, this issue has two sides. Polystyrene containers are cheap and they do a good job of keeping food and beverages at a desirable temperature. On the other side of the clamshell are, well, the clams and their fellow inhabitants of the ocean. These containers can't be easily recycled, so they pose a danger to sea creatures who ingest them and, potentially, to the humans who go on to eat these sea creatures.

New York City had to fight to make this proposed ban a reality, but fight they did. Establishments have until June 30 to use up their stock of polystyrene and some exceptions will be made for containers that bring food into the city.

I'm not naive enough to think that the already high prices in New York won't go up as a result of this change, but personally, I think the change is a good one. To me, saving money at the expense of our planet seems penny wise and pound foolish and I can only hope that similar changes are coming soon to a restaurant near me.

Would I be willing to pay a little more for my food if the establishment adopted an eco-friendly policy? I would.

And I do.

Would you?

Misty Monday

newsweek.com

I'm a bit bleary as I write this, mired in a combination of culture shock and lack of sleep, thanks to a weekend in New York City, celebrating my daughter's 18th birthday. "The girls" (my daughter and a young lady she's been friends with since elementary school) were easygoing and drama-free, and the weekend (aside from the requisite Broadway show) was similarly low key and go-with-the-flow. I thought I'd write this on the train yesterday and already have it posted, but the train was warm, overbooked and not very conducive to creativity.

Driving down my street this morning, I was struck by the culture shock. Leafy trees outnumbered the people who were out and about -- the norm for 9:30 in the morning in my neighborhood -- but a stark contrast to a weekend full of concrete and crowded sidewalks. While it was a relief to drive my own car rather than jockey for position on a standing-room-only train, and to have room to maneuver on sidewalks, rather than being pushed and pulled by the flow of a crowd that seemed more competitive than cooperative, still, a normal Monday morning in the neighborhood felt somehow strange. And my stark awareness of this strangeness only intensified the feeling. 

Re-establishing my routine felt simultaneously disappointing and satisfying. Instead of roaming the streets of Manhattan, I was walking down manicured paths on a college campus. Rather than leaving wet towels to be exchanged for clean, I was doing laundry, washing away the traces of a weekend I didn't necessarily want to leave behind. No longer checking things off my packing list, I'd returned to checking things off my to-do list.

cliparthut.com

By the end of the day, I suspect that things will feel normal again. I'll pick up the threads of last week and tie them to the strings of the week ahead and before I know it, the weekend will be the blur that marked a milestone in my daughter's life, while, elsewhere in the world, it marked something much less celebratory.

But blurry or not, it's a memory I get to keep. And perhaps my hesitation to put it behind me is creating the soft wash that makes the familiar seem misty and strange, while still recognizable. 

Rather like the idea of my baby girl turning 18.