Cutting edge?

It's pretty sad when a woman who has refused to even consider getting a portable mp3 player finds herself more in touch with the cutting edge of automotive tech than the radio guy whose job it is to talk about the auto show in Michigan.

If that sounds somewhat smug, well... I'm feeling a little bit smug. When asked to name some of the cars to pay attention to, he (of course) listed several luxury brands, and then commented on one of them (a BMW, I think) that even Americans will have to begin thinking about smaller cars in connection to luxury.

And I thought, "Well, duh! Jeez, I could have told you that more than a year ago." In fact, it was just under a year ago that my husband and I replaced our car that had finally sputtered its last with a used Civic hybrid. And I'd already driven a friend's Civic hybrid for a day, and discovered that it was, as I've been known to mention on a few occasions, a miniature luxury car. The ergonomics are incredible, the interior finishes very well done, the lines snazzy, the drive... sweet.

I mean, come on, people! Hollywood, perhaps the second most image conscious town in the USA (the first being, of course, Washington DC), has long given the Prius the stamp of approval. George Clooney drives a Tango. And, well, the Cooper Mini has been out there for a little while now, and while its fuel economy isn't as good as a regular Civic, it's got serious glitz factor going. The "new trend" toward smaller cars with luxury detailing has been going on for a little while now, folks.

And well, I can tell you, as someone who drives a hybrid, people often ask to "go for a ride" when they find out. Recently, someone at work even commented, "Yeah, I heard you drove a fancy car..." And I drive the 2003 model - not the most up-to-date one. My only "complaint" is that it takes less than a tank of gas to drive from Washington, D.C. to Ohio, so I forget to stop and wind up with stiff muscles at the end of the drive.

Some fuel tips

Over at Country Contemplative, Don talks about the burden of rising gas prices on the poor. And later in a comment, he says, "People making $100,000 a year are inconvenienced by $4 and $5 per gallon gasoline. People making half that much and less are crucified with those prices. The poor don’t get to drive hybrids. "

Even if you add my husband's income to mine, we still do not make even close to $100K/year, but we do drive a hybrid, the Honda Civic Hybrid - the savings on gas is actually worth it, despite some media assertions to the contrary. We bought used, and the difference between ours and an equivalent non-hybrid was about $1500. Because of the efficiency guage, I am able to improve my own fuel use and teach myself to drive with more awareness of my use of resources. Our old car had been paid off, but the savings on gas from the old car pays over half our car payment. (and that's with older, lower gas prices.)

But I'd also remind folks that it's not necessary to drive a hybrid to conserve fuel - smaller cars use less fuel than larger cars (and are often less expensive) And combining errands not only conserves fuel, but also time.

Wait to start the car until after you've put on your seat belt, settled yourself in, and released the parking brake.

Turn off the engine when you get where you're going. When you idle, you're getting 0 mpg.

Go a little slower and be more considerate of other drivers. When you leave a generous stopping distance, you're not constantly alternating between the accelerator and the brake and your milage goes up.

Don't step on the accelerator if the next light is red. Why speed up to a red light only to have to stop?

Cultivate a "feather foot" on the accelerator.

Carpool, take public transit, walk, bike when you can. The lowest tech bike beats the highest tech hybrid on carbon emissions every time. Plus, you get to meet people.

I'm back.

Caught up on my rest some after the grand train adventure. We wound up going sleeper car both ways, and it was lovely. While the "roomette" accomodations are indeed tiny (there was essentially no room for more than my husband's messenger bag, my small handwork bag, our coats and our two selves), they were plenty comfortable, with room to stretch out a little, a fold-out table, and a tiny closet. Meals were included, and while the selection was limited (it might be difficult to maintain a strict diet for more than a day on board), the service was prompt and the food reasonably tasty.

And they provided a space to go for quiet. While we enjoyed meeting many people over meals, it was also nice to be able to go to our own space and shut the door. In the dining car, we met train enthusiasts, a Katrina relief worker and his wife travelling to relatives, a professional dancer on vacation, a woman travelling to a school reunion and other interesting people.

I think if I were travelling with children, the train would have to be my first choice - on our way out, there were two infants on the same car with us, and a family with children. Unlike air travel, there were no major pressure adjustments, even as we travelled through the Appalachian mountains, since we mostly rode along the valleys. There was room to move about for the older children, and even my husband and I found ourselves practically glued to the windows, stopping only to sleep and eat.

The scenery was fabulous: from rolling hills and tumbling rivers to the vast open expanses of the Plains. At night, we found ourselves watching the Christmas decorations flow by. One house was plainly waiting for the train, because as we passed, they blinked the lights and waved to us. On the way back, we were able to tell when we passed the Eastern Great Divide, simply by watching the waters beside us - and watching the Potomac turn from a tiny mountain stream to the churning whitewater near Harper's Ferry was incredible.

Frequently, we found ourselves saying, "That town looks interesting. Can you tell where we are?" We were grateful for local businesses, because they often incorporate the name of the area, or prominant local features. Also, they were often nicer to look at.

As we left Chicago, we passed a large shipping yard and were simply blown away by the volume of freight containers - One part, we weren't sure - was that a warehouse made of freight containers, or simply a stack? We found ourselves thinking about the incredible wealth of a nation that produces those vast yards of food and goods. How can it be possible that we have created a system where so many lack basic heathcare? How could that happen?

Frequently, especially in some of those small towns, or along the rocky gorges of the Appalachians, we found ourselves wishing we could somehow both ride the train to see what comes next, and also that we could get out and explore the treasures that we passed...

I guess what I'm saying is... Wow, what a ride!

Excuse me?

The New York Times has an article on those of us fools and nutcases who would prefer to see less waste over the holidays. It is, of course, presented as those austere green grinches verses the merry traditionalists.

*sigh*

My er... favorite part of the article is the characterization of a "call for less excessive consumption during the holidays" as "un- American". Oy.

For the record, my gifts, mostly homemade, all in reusable bags or containers, are also ones that I think the recipients will enjoy. For those who can't or shouldn't have sweets, I'll be roasting cashews with spices and including a card with the recipe. Frankly, small gifts of handmade candy rarely wind up in the trash. And since I'm putting the effort in, anyway, I can personalize the gifts with little additional work: an initial worked in a crocheted cloth is not difficult, once you've already decided to do the cloth. Nor is choosing colors that the person enjoys to begin with. And I don't think the recipient of that gift will be tossing it, either.

And apparantly, they ran a different version of the same story last year. Come on, people, this isn't difficult. (And just a hint: it's a good idea to turn the thermostat down during parties, because lots of people in a small space generate plenty of heat. It gets warm fast if you don't.)

Beauty and Truth

Just recently, I've been confronted with our society's ideas on beauty. Now, normally, I try to avoid them, because the sameness of it all just depresses me. It's like the way the green areas around my home are being replaced bit by bit with houses that all look the same. Even the residents can't necessarily tell you the difference between their house and the one 2 houses down. ("Um, take a left on Brookedale - but not Brookevale, that's too early - and a right on Brookemere, and then our house is the third brick one. We'll hang out a Halloween flag so you can find it. Look for the lime green flag with the bats..) They all seem to be done in the same tones of grey, beige, and off-white. Blah.

There seems to be no room for wildness, for difference, no room for something beautiful. I mean, just imagine a beautiful Victorian or Edwardian house - doesn't even have to be a big one. I once lived in a smallish house that had 1 bedroom, a small library, an eat-in kitchen and a living room. And a set of very steep and narrow stairs connecting the library and bedroom to the kitchen and living room. The bathroom was on what obviously used to be the back porch. I lived there with 2 other women - one in the library, and one in the living room. And yet, for all the crowdedness of it, the house was beautiful - a little porch out front where we sat when the weather was remotely reasonable for that, a small yard filled with roses, and a gabled roof with gingerbread. The next house down looked completely different, and the one down from that. And their lawns were different, too.

We've bought into this myth that there is only one kind of "nice" to be looking, and even worse, it's the same style being sold all over the country. It's a complete denial: of the stark simplicity and beauty of a New England saltbox, of the lush beauty of roses climbing a wrap around porch, of the quirky beauty of a little house with gazing balls and ceramic animals out front.

Even worse, we turn this single standard thing on our fellow human beings. As though we can't even see the individual beauty we are surrounded with. As though we don't see the beauty of a smile we judge to be less than "perfect". The teeth haven't been bleached to impossible whiteness, or one tooth is tilted, or the face it is in is full, or wrinked, or scarred, or...

I like to draw and to paint, and when I write, or draw, or paint, my heart has to be involved. It's only when I look with both my heart and my eyes that I see something worth drawing, worth painting, worth writing about. And when I've asked someone to model for me, only to get the answer, "No, I'm ugly.", it hurts. It's as though the person is denying that I have seen their beauty at all. My heart aches for them, that they can't see the beauty I'm seeing, and they won't even let me show them what I see. It's like someone looking at the Mona Lisa and saying... "Geez, that's a stupid looking smile." or looking at a Reubens or Titian and talking about how a low carb diet would have done wonders... Because you just know when someone believes that, they've been told it over and over again.

I wish I could somehow convince people to unchain themselves from this oppressive single standard and see the wild beauty around them: the individual and opulant beauty that surrounds us.

The joy of creation

Yesterday, I talked about my first real hurdle in learning the banjo: I have very small hands, which makes some of the fingerings a real stretch. I'm getting around that by changing as I go, but it means my left hand must not only know what my right hand is doing, but keep up with it, doing something else at the same speed. For right now, that means I go slowly. My metronome stays for now set at 40 beats per minute.

What I didn't talk about is what keeps me coming back. And not just to the banjo: I often sew my own clothing, weave, braid, crochet, and knit. I am skilled at the "clean out the fridge" dinner, and have been known to produce pretty good meals out of leftovers, occasionally even cooking from random ingredients someone else has bought. (I have friends who used to do this just to get me to cook such a meal. Oddly enough, I still enjoy doing so every now and again.) With only one exception, all the art in my home is by either me or else artists I know. I like to listen to music made by friends. (And folks, seriously, go check over at Quiet Paths. There's a recording of "Soldier's Joy" on banjo and viola. It was supposed to be a sound check, but is just fabulous.)

I think that all too often, our culture puts us in the position of "recipient" - we eat the food someone else grows, wear the clothing that other people make, listen to other people's music, watch other people's stories. It is a powerful statement today to do things for ourselves, to tell our own stories, dance our own dances, grow and cook our own foods (did you know you could buy pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?), to make for ourselves.

Yes, we are all interdependent. While I can take freshly sheared wool and take it through every step to make a shawl, I know nothing of raising sheep or of shearing them. But I do know the quiet delight of seeing the work of my hands taking shape. How many are denied the pleasure of seeing the competence of the hands they were born with? And the joy of giving gifts that are handmade? For my husband's grandmother's birthday, I have some lovely fiber that I will be braiding into a necklace, with tassels at the end and polished shell beads interwoven. Her card will be ornamented with origami and handpainted detail. (And will use fewer resources than a traditional card, since the materials I use are environmentally sound - I take materials that would otherwise be headed for a landfill and reuse them.)

I take pride in the job I do when making things, and wish that others could be so encouraged - whether to raise a bit of a garden, or to make their own cards, or to sing their own songs. Although, apparantly, with some folks, we'll have to begin with spreading their own peanut butter.

Where are the victory gardens?

This morning, as I got ready for work, I heard a commercial on the radio that still has me upset. It features two characters, a child and a "mommy". The mother character was speaking in that voice that adults use when they want to patronizingly instruct children. That voice has long been one of my pet peeves. (Apparantly at least from the age of 3 when I informed my mom that I didn't want to watch television because "they talk down to me.") In any event, the discussion revolves around which suburban development they should move into, with the child declaring "We should move into X, Mommy, because everything is included in one price there." and the "mommy" approvingly replying, "You're going to be such a good shopper one day!"

Aside from the problem of this pricing structure encouraging monster houses because essentially, everyone pays for the biggest house they build, so you might as well get all the "options", since you're paying for them anyway, I am appalled by the implication that the job of adults is to raise the next generation of consumers.

Let us presume that most people have never watched An Inconvenient Truth, as I confess I have not. Let us further acknowlege that our "leadership" has done its level best to insulate Americans from the consequences of our choices. The cost of war has been put on credit, and the bodies for that war have come from a minority of American families. Further, while complaining about the cost of public transit and energy research, our love affair with petroleum has been subsidized heavily.

Even so, I want to know where the victory gardens are. Where is the encouragement for average Americans to reduce our dependent relationship with oil producing countries by reducing our reliance on oil? One reduction could easily come from encouraging families to consider growing some of our own food. This does not require that we all move to the midwest and set up full farms, but how hard would it be to encourage folks to, say, grow a mint border next to the walk up to the porch, or allow apartment residents to have small container gardens on the roof, or a community garden on public land? Mesclun mix makes a gorgeous decorative element, and throwing some garlic in with it makes for some height and visual interest. Plus, you can pick your salad for dinner while thinning out the border.

I am reminded also of the crisis that has been going on for the last 15 years with bee hives all over the country. In the area where I live, beekeeping has been frequently NIMBYed, not just in the nearer-in suburbs, but in those which have taken over farmland for the monster houses mentioned above. (Do families really need over 1,000 square feet per person of enclosed space?) I am, however, seriously enjoying vicariously reading about the beekeeping endeavors of an author whose works I very much enjoy.

I believe true leadership right now would be asking for change. We would be encouraging people to conserve energy, consolidate trips, carpool, grow food or buy local, bring their own shopping bags (paper or plastic? How about canvas?), etc.

Hey, George, don't you know there's a war on?